


Breathe Me

by odyssxus



Series: (i carry it in my heart) [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Asexual Nile Freeman, BAMF Nile Freeman, Catholic Guilt, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Everyone gets several turns being the POV character, F/F, Former Priest Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Getting Together, I would die for Joe, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe Is Amazing, M/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post canon, Pre-Canon, Stimming, Trashing the Catholic Church, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and all of them lets be real, and nicky, exploration of mental health for various characters, projecting my own trauma?, who me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: Nicky has a complicated relationship with food, with faith, with love, and with happiness.Joe, and the rest of his family, love him regardless.Ft. Heavy amounts of Catholic guilt, Nicky with anxiety issues and unresolved trauma, Joe being the amazing man that he is, Andy and Quynh basically adopting them, and Nile deciding they all need therapy. And some Booker, cause he deserves love.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: (i carry it in my heart) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049579
Comments: 230
Kudos: 745





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Simplified history in this fic! - I’ve mainly studied Classics, and while I’ve taken a few classes on this time period and the Crusades and read some books years ago, it’s not nearly enough for me to be an expert. There would doubtless be a whole hell of a lot more to Nicky’s journey to Jerusalem, etc… but in this particular fic I’ve chosen not to focus on that. I started to, but it didn’t go with the vibe, ya feel me? 
> 
> I am definitely trashing the Catholic Church. It deserves it. I was raised in a Catholic family until my dad and I left, and yeah. I know my situation was hardly the only possibility, but it left me with trauma, a ton of residual guilt, and issues that last to this day. And, you know, the whole Crusade thing. Projecting my own issues/trauma onto Nicky? Why yes, yes I am.

In truth, he couldn't remember when or how it had started. Likely when he’d started giving his sister his share of their meager meals, ensuring she would not go hungry. Their family was respectable enough, but there were four of them, and their father enjoyed drinking. Nicolò, as the youngest, was often forgotten about. There were three boys after all, so what good was he? Life was misery, and he hadn’t expected to live particularly long. He was sure his father, with his drunken rages and many vices, would prefer if Nicolò was gone.

While at the monastery he threw himself into learning. He was lucky, he knew that. He was smart, and learned to read Latin quickly, along with Greek. He’d impressed his elders with his quick mind, and eagerly soaked up as much knowledge as he could. The stories in the Bible had always fascinated him, and being able to read them first hand simply made him more amazed. He was able to forget about everything else when he was reading.

It was while learning that he began purposefully fasting. 

At first he’d simply given his food to a newer boy, one who had missed his own meal. When Father Ricardo had noticed he’d been praised - both for his kindness to his fellow and for his penance to God. That night when he’d gone to bed he’d savoured the empty feeling in his belly for the first time, feeling like he had done something right for once. He hadn’t done it often at first - but eventually started skipping meals more and more. Usually it would be one or two meals a week (being sure to give his share to someone else, no one else noticed but he knew God would see him and understand) but occasionally he would miss more. There were times when he just felt overwhelmed by life, by the sounds and the people, and the hunger made him feel calmer, more connected to his body and less likely to lose himself in his own mind. 

Then had come Father Cosimo, and his wandering hands and honeyed words telling him how beautiful he was. He had been twelve at that point, growing tall yet still all limbs like many boys of that age, and had begun to fill out slightly despite his avoidance of meals. He started skipping breakfast as well. When Father Comiso died several years later, shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he’d hated himself for feeling nothing but relief. He’d throw himself into prayer, prostrating himself in front of the altar in an attempt to atone for his sins. 

He got better - for several years. He was smart, and people liked him. They wanted to talk to him, confide in him. He presided over Mass, performed baptisms, gave communion… all the seven sacraments. He felt as one with God, or as one with God a mere flawed human could be. He grew comfortable in his life, and though he still fasted frequently, it felt less like a punishment and more as a way to show his devotion to the Lord. Other priests would likewise fast, or wear hair shirts underneath their robes. He was not unique in missing meals, though he suspected, on his bad days, that his reasons may be different then the other priests. 

Then the Pope called for arms, to take back the Holy Land from those who had stolen it. 

Nicolò hadn’t wanted to go. He was no soldier, no fighter. He’d trained briefly with a sword, as a small child, but that had been years ago now. He would be useless in battle. But the Pope was ordained by the Holy Father Himself, and who was Nicolò to say no? He, along with several other Priests in his order, were sent on a ship on course for Jerusalem. 

Three died within the month. The fourth not long after, in Antioch. 

Soon it was only Nicolò left, only him to offer prayer and spiritual guidance to the men. To the boys - for some of them were little more than children. He pushed his doubt and fear away. God had his plan, and he would not second guess Him. 

In the first battle in near Jerusalem he stabbed man through the chest, and was stabbed through his in return. He’d given his life, worthless as it was, to God, and was happy in a way as he’d fallen in a pool of his own blood, the other man’s weapon still through his chest. 

Then he’d woken up. 

Covered and blood and grime and who knows what else. He’d staggered to his feet, retrieved his sword, and screamed into the crook of his arm. 

_On the Cross, Jesus himself had wept._

_'_ _My God, My God, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?’_

He’d returned to the camp after, saying he’d simply been knocked unconscious. That it was just a tear in his tunic, and that the blood wasn’t his. The lies had tasted like ash in his mouth. That night he had desperately prayed, asking God why he had been barred from even Purgatory, unable to await Holy judgment. 

It got worse soon after. 

He became better at killing, stabbing and slashing at faceless enemies in the melee, and searching for survivors afterwards. He killed the same man over and over again, both of them looking increasingly exhausted and horrified. He held men as they died, performed last rites when required. He stopped eating for the most part- his body apparently no longer needed sustenance to survive like it used to. He came close to dying of starvation, and only then would he have some bread or some water. He gave everything else to those who needed it more than him. 

Somehow, at the end, he’d found himself half collapsed near a small Church inside the gates of Jerusalem. He’d managed to make his way inside, dry heaving against a wall through his sobs. Bodies were everywhere. Half naked women, terrified children, old men with whatever weapons they could find to defend themselves from those who called themselves righteous. 

He had done this. His people had done this. He’d screamed again, sobbing against the bloody floor. How could God want this? How could God desire this level of death and depravity? Nicolò had left for Jerusalem unsure of his place, but wholeheartedly believing in the cause. But this was not God's work. He believed the Pope when he said God wanted Jerusalem reclaimed for his Christian people… but could not believe that God would want this unashamed slaughter. 

He had made up his mind then, and begun to prepare the bodies for last rites. He could not tell if the people were Christian, Jews, or Muslims. But he could try and give them some peace at least. 

He had been praying over a small child, the last body, when someone else had appeared. Nicolò should have tried to defend himself, should have done anything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His life did not matter. A man spoke in broken Latin. 

_“You are not celebrating your victory?”_

They’d left together that night, he and the other man who could not be killed. There was nothing more for them in Jerusalem. 

**_October 1099_ **

“For you.”

Nicolò looked up, blinking at the offered food. “You should have it,” he managed to say, wincing at how terrible his Arabic sounded even to his own ears. If he’d been back in Genova, Father Leonadro would have punished him severely for his lack of care. 

Yusuf, however, only laughed and corrected him gently. Nicolò repeated the sounds, wanting to get them right. Yusuf had been able to speak some Latin when they’d met, as well as small bits of other languages. They’d quickly figured out a way to communicate, and begun to teach each other. Nicolò had learned very quickly that the other man shared his love of knowledge. 

“I apologise,” Nicolò said, once Yusuf nodded and praised his pronunciation. 

Yusuf frowned. “For what?” he asked, speaking in only slightly accented Liguruan. 

Nicolò’s lips twitched in a smile. “For butchering your language,” he instantly responded. 

Yusuf shook his head with a small smile on his face. “You have nothing to apologise for my friend!” he declared. “Now here,” he said again. “I have eaten half already.”

Nicolò took the bread in a suddenly shaking hand, sending Yusuf a small smile. The slightly taller man grinned easily back at him, before moving to tend to the horses. Nicolò wished it were his turn to do so - then he would have a reason to not eat. The thought of food turned his stomach. He wanted to feel that hollow sensation, to feel closer to God. He needed his body to hurt. 

But he also did not want to waste food, especially not food that Yusuf had given him. 

It had taken them time (and a few more deaths) to trust each other, but now Nicolò counted Yusuf as his dearest friend. The world seemed less loud, less overwhelming, with him in it. 

“Please,” he finally said, rubbing his free hand up and down his arm in a calming manner to try and prevent his heart from racing. “You take it my friend. I am truly not hungry.” 

Yusuf stopped poking the fire, the horses long since tended to. “Are you alright?” 

Nicolò swallowed. “Of course,” he answered, for he was. He was unhurt.

Yusuf studied him, dark eyes concerned, but eventually nodded. “Save it,” he ordered, a small and worried smile on his face. “Please.” 

Nicolò opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. For some reason he did not want to disappoint Yusuf. He tucked the bread into his satchel, and when he’d nibbled it several days later he tried to ignore how Yusuf’s expression of relief warmed him like nothing ever had before. 

**_Early 1104, Athens_ **

Nicolò, or Nico as Yusuf liked to call him sometimes, flexed his hands, trying to stop them from shaking. They had spent the last several years avoiding large towns, only stopping in small villages when they’d had no choice. He’d wanted to continue avoiding them, but Yusuf had persuaded him to come to Athens. He’d traded here as a young man, and had fond memories of the city. And, as he’d pointed out with that perfect smile, they were likely immortal. They couldn’t avoid cities for eternity. 

So Nicolò had agreed. And Athens was beautiful - full of sounds and smells and people. Yusuf was in his element, haggling for spices he wanted to show Nicolò, talking to old women who sold their wares in stalls, grasping some blue fabric and comparing it to Nicolò’s eyes. Nicolò had felt happy, walking around his Yusuf. He had felt at peace. 

He didn’t deserve it. 

He didn’t deserve to be happy. 

Soon enough, the sounds became overwhelming, the people crushing. It was all just too much. He longed to be alone, well, alone with Yusuf, spending the night talking as they usually did. He didn’t want people to be pressing against him, shouting in his ear. 

Yusuf passed him a small pasty, looking wildly happy, and Nicolò pushed down the feeling of panic swelling in his chest to smile back. He would not ruin Yusuf’s happiness for something tedious. 

“You must try one Nico,” Yusuf gushed. “Anna over there makes them with her husband. I tried to convince her to teach me but, alas, she refused.” 

Nicolò forced himself to smile wider - not wanting Yusuf to worry. “It looks delicious,” he said honestly. “You have it, I am not hungry and wouldn't appreciate it enough.” 

Yusuf’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You have not eaten today, and you skipped supper last night,” he observed slowly. 

Nicolò bit the inside of his cheek. He’d hoped Yusuf had been too excited to be in Athens to notice. But Yusuf was extremely observant, and Nicolò should have known better than to ever doubt him. His hands shook some more. “Just…” he trailed off, the swell of terrible emotion now in his throat. “Not now,” he begged. “Please Yusuf.” 

Yusuf looked down to his shaking hands, and swore. “Come,” he said firmly, holding out an arm to usher him out of the market, “Let’s get back to the inn.” 

Nicolò closed his eyes, breathing out shakily. “But you are not finished,” he managed to say, voice starting to fail him. He wanted to cry, furious at himself for his own weakness. He hadn’t had one of these odd attacks since meeting Yusuf, and could not bear to have one now, to have Yusuf realise he was nothing more than a weak fool, undeserving of his friendship. 

Yusuf glared at him gently, looking increasingly worried. “I can come back tomorrow,” he replied easily. 

Nicolò opened his mouth to protest again, but the only sound that emerged was a sharp breath. He scratched at the back of his left hand with his right - needing the pain to ground him. Yusuf, noticing the small blood scratches, grabbed his right hand gently, and pulled him along more quickly. 

Once in the inn he said something in a cheerful tone to the owner, who answered back equally as happy. Everyone they met adored Yusuf, and Nicolò could more than see why. He was gregarious, attentive, and more kind than Nicolò deserved. The owner said something else, but Yusuf waved him off, ushering Nicolò to their shared room. It was tiny, with two small cots, a fireplace, a bowl on a stand for washing, and not much else. 

Yusuf pushed him down onto his own bed, the one that smelled faintly of the spices and herbs he’d bought the day before, and crouched in front of him, still holding his hand. “Nico?”

Nicolò shook his head, tears filling his eyes. It was just too much sometimes, but he had no idea how to explain that to Yusuf. None of the other priests had understood, and, as he tended to become clumsy and absent minded when like this, he’d been punished. He’d learned to hide it for the most part, as he’d hidden his avoidance of food, but apparently not well enough to hide from Yusuf. 

Warm hands held his, and Nicolò let out a gasping breath, the air catching in his chest. He could barely breathe. 

“Nico, Nicolò!” 

He forced himself to look up, meeting Yusuf’s wide eyes, before looking down in shame. He hated seeing that look on his dearest friends face, hated knowing that he had put it there. 

“No, don’t look away my friend,” Yusuf ordered in his beautiful Arabic. “Look at me Nico,” he added in Nicolò’s childhood Ligurian. “Please.” 

Nicolò, unable to resist, looked back at Yusuf. The other man smiled, running a hand over his long hair. Nicolò resisted the urge to lean into the caress. 

“Can you copy my breathing?” Yusuf asked, pulling Nicolò’s hand forwards to rest over his own heart. Nicolò watched, seeing Yusuf’s broad chest rise and fall in regular motions, and desperately tried to copy them. It took what felt like years, his own chest stuttering and clenching around each and every breath. Yusuf didn’t seem angry at Nicolò’s inability to follow his instructions however, and simply sat with him, speaking gently and using the hand not holding Nicolò’s to his chest to cup his scruffy cheek and caress his hair, touching him with infinite gentleness. 

Finally Nicolò was able to breathe, was able to see through the tears that had gathered in his eyes. “I…” 

Yusuf shook his head. “Don’t apologise,” he ordered, voice kind yet firm. “There is no need for an apology Nico.” 

Nicolò swallowed, disagreeing but unwilling to argue. 

“Now come my friend,” Yusuf said, clambering onto the bad and arranging Nicolò in his arms before Nicolò could blink. “You must sleep. Then,” he added, voice casual, as though he wasn’t hugging Nicolò to his chest. “Then we will go and eat. You are getting far too thin.” 

  
Nicolò thought about replying, of attempting to apologise once more, but eventually decided against it, and forced himself not to push back into Yusuf’s warm arms. They’d slept like this before over their years of knowing one another - sometimes for warmth, sometimes for comfort, and often for protection. Yusuf was slower to wake, while Nicolò could be up and ready to fight in seconds, but tended to feel more secure knowing he had someone (had Yusuf) literally at his back. But they only slept like that when need be - not when they were in an inn with two beds. But he did not argue. He was selfish after all, and Yusuf was warm and comforting.

He slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer chapter this time, cause they deserve it, and I'm terrible at writing anything under 20 pages

**_Constantinople , 1154_ **

Nico backed away so quickly he tripped over his own feet, guilt and terror swelling in his chest. “I’m sorry!” he said quickly, not daring to look at Yusuf. They still had not separated, bound together by their strange immortality and Nico was terrified he had ruined that. That he had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Yusuf reached for him, a concerned look on his wonderful face, but Nico managed to get to his feet and leave the small home they shared, his feet taking him to a small Church several miles away. It was mostly empty, and he sat heavily in a pew, staring up Jesus on the Cross with his old rosary beads in his hand. He’d ruined everything. Yusuf had embraced him, making him feel warm and loved and at peace, and Nico had destroyed it. He’d kissed him, quickly, on the lips, not even thinking about his actions. Yusuf had not looked angry, but then again, he was hard to truly anger. He would express himself easily, make his annoyance and happiness known in turn, but he was rarely truly angry. 

Nico hadn’t waited around for his reaction. 

He was _wrong_ , just like Father Cosimo had said all those years ago, when he had led the man into sin with his eyes and his body. When he’d made a Priest, one far greater than Nico would ever be, lower himself so far. He did not want to do the same thing to Yusuf. 

He prayed until dark, kneeling in the darkening pew for hours. A Priest, a kind elderly man named Alexander, approached him, but Nico simply smiled and waved him off. He was not prepared to burden others, though he knew the old man would gladly listen. Father Alexander was the type of Priest he had wished to be all those years ago in Genova, though he had failed miserably. 

When he’d left the Church Yusuf was waiting, leaning against the worn wall. He had a peaceful look on his face, and was holding as pastry in his hand. “It will be cold by now,” he said slowly, “But still good.”

Nico looked from Yusuf to the pastry, to exhausted to think. “I am not hungry,” he whispered. 

Yusuf smiled sadly, pushing off the wall and coming to Nico’s side “I know,” he replied. “But you must eat, my Nicolò. Please.” He pushed the food into Nico’s hand. “For me.” 

Nico stared at him for a long moment, before accepting the food, nibbling on it half heartedly. Yusuf put an arm around his shoulders, leading him home. They walked in silence, Yusuf apparently content to leave him to his thoughts. Or perhaps he was just waiting until they got to the privacy of their home. Nico could only pray that Yusuf would not leave. He did not think he could cope with being alone after all this time. 

He gave the remainder of his pastry to a beggar, knowing he needed it more. Yusuf looked on, and smiled gently, that worried look back in his eyes. Nico hated knowing he had been the one to put it there. 

Eventually they made it back to their small home, and Yusuf locked the doors, pushing Nico into a chair before lighting some candles for light. He knelt in front of Nico, startling him, and grasped his hands in one of his, looking up at him earnestly. “Nico,” he started, caressing his cheek with his free hand. “Why did you leave?” 

Nico tried to look away, before Yusuf caught him. He swallowed. “I…” he trailed off uselessly, feeling overwhelmed and empty all at once. 

Yusuf released his hands, and cupped his face gently. “I thought you to have no interest in anyone,” he finally said, chuckling gently. “You never seemed to care when I would meet someone for the night, nor did you seem to have any interest in taking a lover.” He paused, moving his thumb gently over Nico’s cheekbone. 

“I do not,” Nico replied, “usually.” For he didn’t. He had vague memories of finding men attractive when he’d been young, before joining the Church, but then he had sworn himself to God. Then came Father Cosimo. And he’d buried his feelings, unwilling to allow himself to get hurt again, not wanting to sin against God any further. But Yusuf had broken all his doors down. He loved the other man with an intensity never felt before. He’d realised it slowly, but expected he would never act on it. He would happily spend the rest of his life following in Yusuf’s light. “I am sorry,” he added. 

“For what?” Yusuf asked, sounding genuinely confused. “For kissing me? Do you not see how I look at you Nico? How I have not had any interest in finding a lover in recent years? I would gladly spend the rest of my life at your side, my love, but would like even more to kiss you and to love you.” He smiled again, tears in his dark eyes. “Can I kiss you this time?” 

Nico drew a shuddering breath, feeling himself shake. “Why?” he managed to ask, staring into Yusuf’s wonderful eyes and seeing nothing but earnestness. He did not understand why someone like Yusuf would ever want him of all people. 

Yusuf laughed breathlessly. “Why?” he asked, sounding surprised. “Because I love you,” he insisted. “I love your kindness and your smile. I love how you always chose to help others, how you worked so hard to learn my language and to make food I missed from my childhood. How your eyes reflect the sea, and how your skin glows in the moonlight. I love how we can speak for hours about anything, and I love your mind.” He kissed Nico on the cheeks, one after the other. “There is nothing about you I do not love. I just…” he shrugged helplessly. “I did not want to push you. I would be content simply being in your company for the rest of our long days.” 

Nico choked back a sob, unable to understand that this wonderful person Yusuf was describing was him. Yusuf gathered him in his arms tightly, and Nico buried his face in his neck, breathing in his scent. “I am not worth your love,” he said, needing Yusuf to understand. He did not want him to lower himself so. 

Yusuf shook his head. “You are though Nico,” he insisted. He pulled back. “Now, can I _please_ kiss you?” 

Nico stared at him, heart thundering in his chest. He should say no. He knew that. He should not allow Yusuf to lower himself. But he wanted this, so badly. His love for Yusuf was like nothing he had ever felt, intense and beautiful. Being in his company made him forget about his guilt and feelings of inadequacy. In their conversations he was able to learn, and grow, and realise how wrong his Church could be. He no longer believed he was wrong for loving a man, but he could not imagine Yusuf ever loving him. He was broken, damaged. Yusuf deserved better. 

“You deserve better,” he said, unable to ignore that thought. 

Yusuf looked devastated. “There is no one better than you Nicolò,” he said, voice firm despite the tears rolling down his cheeks and into his thick beard. 

Nico shook his head desperately, reaching his own hands up to cup Yusuf’s face in turn. “You are like the sun,” he said simply. “I am nothing.”

Yusuf did kiss him then, surging forwards and pressing their lips together. He broke away first, and rested his forehead against Nicolò’s. “You are everything,” he said, voice desperate now. “I do not know why you feel this way, but please trust me. I love you, my Nicolò.” 

Nicolò sobbed once, giving in and kissing Yusuf again. They needed to talk more, he knew that, but for now all he wanted was to be in Yusuf’s arms, and hold Yusuf in his. Eventually Yusuf stood and led him to one of the beds, laying down and pulling Nico down as well. They fell asleep looking at each other, legs tangled and hands entwined. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Yusuf woke first, heart feeling simultaneously light and heavy. Nicolò loved him, just as he loved Nico. But he had somehow not realised the depths of Nico’s sorrow. He had known, from their years together, that the other man carried pain inside him, but it had become less apparent over the fifty odd years they’d been travelling together. 

There were times when he got worse, though Yusuf was beginning to know the causes now. There was a certain type of man that could set him off - usually older priests with hard eyes and cruel smirks - and he had issues with food Yusuf could not begin to understand. He knew the Christians fasted, like Muslims did, but he felt like Nico’s reasons were different. He’d learned to not push, and just make sure he offered food with a smile. The bouts of not eating would end soon enough, though seeing the weight fall off Nico’s already thin frame caused him no end of pain. 

He had not expected Nico to kiss him. 

He’d fully expected to spend the rest of his long long life pining over the other man, content to simply be in his company. He’d had male and female lovers before, but he had never felt the level of love and devotion he felt for Nico.

But then Nico had run, looking panicked and ill. 

He’d followed him after he’d recovered from his own shock, but Nico had been gone. He’d ended up in the market, buying a pastry for himself and one for the love of his life. He knew Nico well. He would not want to eat right now, but Yusuf would still offer. 

Eventually his feet had led him to a small Church, one that Nico frequented. The Priest, an older man with kind grey eyes and an easy smile, came out when he saw Yusuf, offering to get Nico for him. Yusuf had simply shaken his head, knowing that Nico needed the comfort of prayer. He had all the time in the world and more, and would gladly wait for him. 

Nico had, as he’d expected, only nibbled at the pastry, and given the rest to a beggar. 

On the bed next to him Nico shifted, making a small noise in his sleep. Yusuf soothed him easily, wanting to allow him his sleep. He felt heartsick after their conversation the night, at realising how little Nico thought of himself. Could he not see how brilliantly he shone? 

Yusuf had the urge to go back to Genova and find whoever had made Nico like this, and hurt them. There had been several offhand comments over the years, about a father who drank too much, of priests who encouraged him to miss meals, and of a man named Father Cosimo. Remembering the last one would cause Nico to sleep badly for weeks on end, and while he never said anything, he thought he was starting to understand. It killed Yusuf to hear Nico begging for this Father Cosimo to stop in his sleep, to hear him sob brokenly. 

If he found an excuse to hug Nico a little bit more tightly the next day, no one needed to know. 

He reached for some vellum and charcoal, wanting to commit Nico’s slumbering face to memory. They had difficulties ahead of him, they both knew that, but today was special. He never wanted to forget the first time he and Nico kissed. He would not push the other man for more yet, much as he wanted to, especially in the city. Nico always seemed unsettled around large groups of people, and Yusuf never wanted to make him feel anxious. 

He sketched for nearly an hour, wanting his work to be perfect, before Nico stirred again, his incredible eyes blinking open slowly. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Yusuf put his drawing down on the small table by the bed before lying down next to Nico, caressing a sharp cheekbone gently. “Morning,” he said lowly. 

Nico smiled faintly, though there was a hint of fear still in his eyes. Yusuf hated to see it there. But he’d been raised differently, but parents who adored him, and in a faith where he’d never been made to feel anything but loved. He knew Nico could not say the same. 

“I love you,” he said, for he did, and was now free to say so. 

Nico flushed, but his smile took on a pleased edge. “I love you too.” he was silent for a moment more, emotions playing across his face too quickly for Yusuf to follow, before he leaned forwards, kissing him gently. Yusuf immediately moved his free hand to Nico’s waist, holding him close. 

“Nicolò,” he finally said, pulling back slightly. “I need you to listen, alright?” 

Nico nodded, blue eyes widening slightly. Yusuf hated that his first instinct was fear and dread. 

“I love you,” he repeated. “No matter what. No matter what demons you think you are hiding, or the faults you mistakenly think you have. You are wonderful to me, and nothing will change how I feel about you. Nothing.” He grinned. “We’ve already killed each other, if we can forget about that nothing else will matter.” 

Nico swallowed and nodded. “I…” he trailed off. “I know that,” he said firmly, warming Yusuf’s heart. “I do. I just…” he cut himself off with a shaky breath. “I’m trying.” 

Yusuf pulled him close, their foreheads together as they lay on the narrow bed. “That’s all I ask,” he said quietly. He had his own issues, he was sure, but he was comfortable with his emotions. He would scream and cry, rage when need be, and allow himself to feel. Nicolò was the opposite. He would hold all of his pain, and all of his joy, inside, until it had no choice but to burst out. Yusuf had gotten good at recognising the signs and getting his dearest love somewhere quiet to settle himself, but did not always succeed. He hoped them admitting their feelings would lessen Nico’s burden somewhat. 

Nico blinked away tears and tangled their fingers together. “Thank you.”

Yusuf laughed, feeling teary himself. “Do not thank me for loving you,” he insisted. “It’s as easy as breathing. Thank you for allowing me to do so.” 

Nico, who was less open with his words but incredibly expressive with his eyes, softened minutely, before letting out a slow breath. He said nothing more, but Yusuf was not offended. He could see the emotion in his beloved’s eyes. 

“Come,” he said, kissing him again. “Let us sleep some more.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Duchy of the Archipelago, Naxos, Mid 1300’s_ **

They’d been travelling with Andromache and Quynh on and off for nearly a century now, and Nicolò didn’t think he’d ever been happier. The work they did was difficult, but he had two sisters he loved, and Yusuf by his side. 

They’d also, thankfully, travelled in mostly quiet places, and avoided cities. When they did venture into a large port or a large city it was brief, and while he still didn’t enjoy it persay, he was more comfortable in himself, and better able to cope. Quynh in particular had taken him under her wing, and taught him more about a bow than he’d imagined possible. He’d been somewhat nervous around Andromache, who seemed to be able to see right through him, but quickly lost that emotion when he saw how happy she made Yusuf, or Ioseph as he was known as in Greece. He could still get away with Nico, though most people assumed it was short for Nikolas instead of Nicolò. 

“Come,” Andromache ordered, looping her arms through his. “We need food, and the last time I bought anything you and Ioseph laughed at me for weeks.”

He rolled his eyes good, giving her a small smile. “Because not even Yusuf could make a meal out of what you bought,” he told her. 

She smacked him gently. “You managed.” 

“Barely,” he scoffed. “That was no supper. That was desperation” 

She just laughed at him, yelling into the garden to Yusuf and Quynh to let them know where they were going. Yusuf yelled back something that made him blush, and Quynh stabbed him in the shoulder in retaliation. Yusuf, bless him, just laughed. 

They walked in silence for a long time, enjoying the cool breeze and blossoming flowers. It was spring now, and Nico hoped they could stay here for longer before moving on. The island was busy enough, but they lived out of the main town near the beach of St. Georgios in a beautiful cottage. It was small, and simple, but had a kitchen he and Yusuf could use (Qunyh would cook if she had too, but Andromache ruined anything she touched) and two small bedrooms. It was the height of luxury for them. 

Andromache left him quickly when they reached town, going to purchase some wine. He perused the market easily, enjoying the wind and the smells. He spoke easily to an older woman selling various cheese, before moving onto the next stall for meat. 

The seller, a younger man then the one normally there, perhaps about 40, looked him up and down. Nico bit the inside of his cheek. He was comfortable in his ability to defend himself now, but something about this man made him feel dirty, like Father Cosimo had all those years ago. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he said. 

Nico tensed slightly, and simply hummed in response. “I’ll take two of those please.”

The man got the cuts of meat. “I could offer them free of charge,” he said casually. “For a small favour.” He gave Nico another lewd look, and reached over to grab his wrist. Nico pulled back immediately, heart thumping in his chest. He did not want to cause a scene, to have to leave because he overreacted. 

The man smiled at him. “Don’t be like that,” he said in a beseeching tone, as though that would convince Nico to listen to him. 

Nico took another step backwards, focusing on his breathing. He wanted to be back in their small cottage, back with Yusuf. The sounds of the market, which had been almost comforting just moments before, were suddenly too much. He wanted to leave. 

“I’d rather just pay,” he managed to say, somehow keeping his voice steady. 

The man, looking angry now, opened his mouth to say something, before a shadow fell over him and a familiar arm draped itself over around his waist protectively. Andromache. 

“We’ll take the meat without payment, and you’re going to stop saying disgusting comments to my brother, unless you want me to cut out your tongue.” 

The man paled, and rapidly gave them their order, not once looking at Nico. Andromache could be utterly terrifying when she wished to be. Her fury had never been directed at Nico however, so he just found it comforting. Or he would, if he could think clearly and get his roiling emotions out of control. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to throw up or cry, and felt like a complete fool. Nothing had happened, and he’d heard much worse over the past century or so without reacting like this after all. But he’d typically expected people to be horrible then, whereas today the comments had surprised him. 

Andromache took the food, giving the man one last glare for good measure. “Do we need anything else?” 

Nico swallowed. “I have not bought things for dessert yet,” he said blankly. 

“I bought a lot of wine,” she countered. “That is enough for dessert, at least for tonight. I can come back tomorrow for more ingredients, as long as you tell me exactly what to buy.” 

Nico nodded, still focusing on keeping his breathing steady so he didn’t cause a scene. Andromache, sister of his heart, steered him away towards their cottage in single minded determination, her firm grip helping ground him. They had not spoken much about their respective pasts, but she had heard his nightmares, had seen him go through times when he could not eat, could not sleep, when he constantly felt shaky and ill despite his immortality, when all he wanted to do was curl up in Yusuf’s arms and hide from the world. She would have her suspicions about why that man and his words would affect him so strongly. They were family after all. 

Once they were away from the market she led him to the beach, forcing him to sit down in the sand with his feet in the waves. The water was cold, but he didn’t mind. The feeling grounded him better than scratching at his own arms ever did. And Yusuf didn’t like when he did that anyway, though there were times when Nicolò could not stop himself. He’d gotten in trouble for that as a child, and then again as a young man at the monastery. 

Andromache sat next to him, sharing his warmth, and pulled his head down onto her strong shoulder. She was breathing deeply and slowly, and Nico copied her, knowing he could not carry on with his odd breathing pattern, not if he wanted to avoid another one of his attacks. Andromache would not mind, would not judge him, but he did not want to deal with one. They always left him feeling ill and shaky for days. 

“I can go back and kill him, if you want,” she offered eventually. 

Nico managed a small laugh. “It’s alright,” he said tiredly. “He was not too bad. I just…” he sighed. “I overreacted.” 

Andromache smacked his knee gently with the arm not wrapped around his shoulders. “You did not,” she protested. “Quynh still hates women with red hair because one killed her when she was newly immortal. And I am honestly terrified of jellyfish. Though I will stab you if you tell anyone.” 

He managed to laugh slightly. “Jellyfish stings hurt,” he pointed out. “And Quynh has a legitimate reason to fear women with red hair it sounds like.” 

Andromache shook him slightly. “That man was being disgusting,” she said, fury in her voice. “He enjoyed making you nervous. And,” she added, kissing his temple. “You have a reason to fear men like him, if I am not mistaken.” 

Nico tensed, breaths coming fast again and that feeling roaring to life in his chest. 

Andromache held him tight. “Copy me Nicolò,” she ordered. “In and out.” 

“We have all endured far worse,” he said brokenly, but truthfully. “It should not affect me anymore.” 

She sighed again. “We all carry scars from before this life,” she said. “We all have injuries from training accidents, or just childhood mistakes.” She traced a small scar on the bridge of his nose from when he’d fallen out of a tree. “You have more than myself, Quynh, and Yusuf, put together.” She traced one of the marks on his back through his thin linen tunic, from where his father had thrown him against the stone mantle when he’d been six. He could not remember why at this point, but could remember the rage in his father’s face, and the stench of alcohol on his breath as he’d screamed and raged. Andromache moved her long fingered hand, tracing another scar on his wrist, this one small but somehow worse. It brought back memories of Father Cosimo. 

“I’m serious though Nico,” she said, smiling at him suddenly. She was rarely soft with him like this, and while Nico knew it was because of his near breakdown, he still basked in her obvious love and warmth. “I will kill him if you give the word. So will Quynh and Yusuf. Do you remember what she did to that man back in Constantinople?” 

Nico snorted, jolted from his dark emotions by the memory. Some man had made some comment about his eyes, and before he (or Yusuf) could react, Quynh had had him pinned to the wall, an arrow driven through his shoulder. Nicolò had laughed at the time, declaring her his hero. He would do the same for her, if he ever needed to. Men certainly looked at her and Andromache often enough, but the women hardly needed his protection. Andromache’s glare alone sent all but the worst of them away, and then, well, Quynh got bored if she had no one to stab. They also tended to look at him and Yusuf as children that needed protection. Yusuf found it to be hilarious, while Nico found himself comforted. Until Yusuf he had never had anyone really love him, never had anyone want to protect him. 

“I don’t want to have to leave this place,” was all he said. “I’ll just let someone else buy the meat next time, if he is back.” 

“Ruin all my fun,” Andromache muttered. “Now come. I’m hungry, and you promised me a meal.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Later that night, after the other had eaten, he went back to the beach, this time with Yusuf. Andromache and Quynh had been exchanging looks all evening, and they both knew it would be better for their ears if they left them alone for the night. They would do the same for them. Yusuf brought several blankets, as well as more wine. 

He watched as Yusuf laid a rug on the sand, before arranging the blankets. “Come,” he said, holding up a corner. Nico smiled, tucking himself neatly under the covers. They laid on their backs beside each other with their hands tangled, gazing at the star studded sky. 

“Andromache told me what happened today,” Yusuf finally said. He squeezed Nico’s hand tightly. “Are you alright?” 

Nico turned to look at Yusuf instead of the stars. Yusuf was more wonderful than the heavens anyway. “She calmed me down,” he admitted wryly. If this had happened back when they’d first met the women he would have been mortified. But now he was only comforted at the thought of Andromache telling Yusuf about the events of the day, at their obvious love for him. 

Yusyf leaned over to kiss him. “She had to sit on Quynh to stop her from finding the man to kill him. I swear, that woman has adopted you as her own.” 

Nico did laugh then. “Centuries old, and we’ve somehow been adopted by two unstoppable warrior queens.”

Yusyf laughed as well, before sobering. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said. 

Nico shook his head. “Do not be,” he said honestly. “I could have handled it, even had Andromache not been there.” 

Yusyf rolled onto his side, throwing an arm over Nico’s chest and resting his head on his shoulder. “I know you could have,” he said easily. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.” 

Nico kissed Yusyf’s curly hair, loving feeling the other man's grounding weight against him. Normally they’d be at least kissing by now, if not more, but that wasn’t what Nico wanted or needed tonight. Tonight he just wanted to be with Yusyf. 

“You know,” he finally said, nearly an hour later, feeling warm and sleepy. “I haven’t thought of him for years now.” 

Yusyf blinked at him. They’d changed positions again, and were curled up under the blankets facing one another, lips inches apart and limbs intertwined so much it was hard to tell where he ended and Yusyf began. 

Nico swallowed. Yusyf, he knew, had read between the lines, paid attention to his nightmares and reactions, but they had never really talked about this. Nico had started to, several times, but had never been able to get the words out. Yusuf, who understood he wasn’t good with his words despite knowing several languages fluently, never pushed him. “Of Father Cosimo. Or my father.” 

Yusuf’s eyes widened in alarm, as though something new occurred to him. “Did your father -”

Nico cut him off. “No, no. He never touched me. Not like that. He liked drinking, and was often angry. I was a convenient target, being the youngest son. I was not the heir, nor was I needed as a spare.” He sighed, not wanting to think of his father. The man was long dead after all. 

Yusuf did not say anything, sensing Nico was not done. He simply held him, offering his love and support. 

Nico inhaled slowly, placing a hand on Yusuf’s chest. Just in case he needed help regulating his breathing. “Father Cosimo…” he said, voice stuttering. “He picked me when I was twelve. Then said I was making him sin, and after he was done the first time, that I was filthy for no longer being a virgin when I had sworn myself to god.”

Yusuf made an angry sound low in his throat. “He -” he cut himself off, looking pained. “You believed him.” 

Nico nodded, tears coming to his eyes. “He told me it was my fault,” he said in a rush. “He was a respected Priest, and it never even crossed my mind to think he was trying to manipulate me.” 

“Is… is that part of the reason why you sometimes don’t eat?” Yusuf asked. 

Nico smiled sadly. He knew his avoidance of food hurt Yusuf, and tried his best to eat regardless of his emotional state. He’d failed tonight, still feeling too ill after the day’s events, and had hated himself for a moment for making Yusuf worry. But then Yusuf had grasped his hand and looked at him with so much naked affection that the intense feeling of guilt had vanished as quickly as it had come. “No,” he admitted. “Though it did not help.” He thought back, feeling raw but somehow lighter, as if sharing was making the weight of the years fall off his shoulders. “I used to give my share of dinner to my sister, and later to others in the monastery. I was praised for my actions, and eventually learned to like the hunger. And after Father Cosimo…” he trailed off again, brushing tears from his eyes angrily. He hated how that man still had this power over him. 

Yusuf leaned forwards, kissing his forehead gently and then allowed his lips to linger. 

“I suppose it was something I could control, and that made me feel better. Less likely to fall apart. Even now,” he continued. “There is so much in life we cannot change. Somehow not eating, it helps.” 

Yusuf was silent for several minutes, breathing deep and slow in case Nico needed help. “How long? He finally asked. 

Nico blinked. “How long?” 

“How long did that piece of shit hurt you?”

Nico sighed, the emotions suddenly swelling in his throat, along with memories best forgotten. He forced them down, focusing on the feeling of Yusuf’s breathing, on the smell of the Mediterranean, and the sound of the crashing waves. “He died when I was sixteen.” 

Yusuf swore, and pulled Nico closer so their faces were pressed into each other’s shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable, and completely perfect. “I wish I could take this pain from you,” he sobbed. “I wish I could have been there for you when you needed me the most.”

Nico laughed, though it came out as more of a sob. “You have been,” he insisted. “I have never felt safer, or more loved, than when I am with you. Just knowing I have you by my side makes me think I can overcome anything this world throws at me.” 

“And you call me the romantic,” Yusuf teased. He kissed him again, lips soft. “You are the strongest person I know,” he said softly. “I love you, so very much.” 

Nico tightened his arms. He felt exhausted, wrung out, just from speaking about his father and Father Cosimo briefly, but also somehow lighter. He realised that a small part of him had been scared Yusuf would be disgusted with him for not fighting back. Not because he doubted Yusuf (never) but because he doubted himself. 

“I love you too,” he slurred, exhausted. 

In his warm voice Yusuf began to sing, tone low and beautiful. It was an old song, even by their standards, one that had been passed down in Yusuf’s family for generations. It spoke of love, of trust, and of eternity. 

He fell asleep, pushing so close to Yusuf that it nearly hurt. 

When the sun rose, Andromache and Quynh joined them, Quynh plastering herself along his back, and Andromache against Yusuf’s. They did not say anything, but then again, they did not need to. They were family, and all they needed to do was love one another, and be there for each other. No spectres of the past would get between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a chapter with Booker next, and then one with Nile, as I didn't want to shove them into the same chapter. I won't be updating this for a few days, a I've got a few family things going on and will be spending a lot of time driving lol. But I've started them both/planned them, so should get them out soon :) 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, I love reading your comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (cheers to the awesome anon on tumblr who pointed out i spelled the title of this wrong lololololol - it’s corrected now, thank you!! )

**_The Caribbean, 1882_ **

Sebastian hated a lot about his new life, but had to admit, there were parts of it he did enjoyed. He missed his family with a desperation that still sometimes hurt, and would mourn their loss for the rest of his days. He hated feeling like he did not have a home anymore, though the others always welcomed him into theirs and offered to help him set up a home of his own wherever he wished. 

But there was good as well. Andromache, for all she had her own grief, was a wonderful companion, old in ways he could not even begin to comprehend. She was vicious on and off the battlefield, but still strangely fun, with no inhibitions whatsoever. She could also, Sebastian had discovered, drink the hardest alcohol like it was nothing more than water. It was downright impressive, and he had yet to come even close to beating her in a drinking contest. He probably never would either. 

He had met Nicholas first, in the cold snows of Russia. The man had saved him from yet another painful death, and spoken in his soft voice in between systematically killing enemies to escape. They’d made camp in a small cave, where the other man had explained, in his quiet way, immortality. He’d spoken about their family, of Andromache and of Yusuf, and of the woman he still dreamed of but would never meet. He’d said little of himself, but Sebastian was a smart man, and observant. He suspected he knew why Nicolò had been sent to find him. He was almost too kind, especially for one so old, but would defend himself and Sebastian with ease. He often gave Sebastian his portion of their small meals, refusing to hear any protest, and ensured he was as comfortable as he could be. 

Yusuf was likewise a wonderful friend to have, extroverted, cheerful, and brilliant in a fight. He and Nicolò could be a little wrapped up in their own world at times, but so could most brothers in arms. It had taken Sebastian nearly a year of travelling with them to realise they were together romantically as well. Andromache, who’d been there when he’d realised, had threatened him, bluntly in her terrifying manner, to make sure he would not react badly. 

Once, he might have. 

But then he had died, come back to life, escaped Russia with a Crusader Priest(1), met two other immortals, left them to return to his family and watch them die, and then make his way back. Without them he would have never clawed his way out of the hole his son’s death had left him in. It still hurt, but he had some sort of purpose now at least, some family. Even if he still wished for this strange immortality to leave him. 

So when Andromache had caught his eye after witnessing the other men kiss he’d just held up his hands and smiled. He may not understand, may only know of men comforting each other in war and nor during peace, but he would not judge them, not for this. In all honesty, he was surprised he had not noticed earlier. Now that he knew, it was hard to ignore how they were always in each other’s orbit, how they seemed to be almost one at times. 

In a way, it warmed his heart to see. But also hurt, and made him long for his beloved wife, long in the ground by this point, along with their children. 

They were between missions, on a beautiful island in the Caribbean, far away from the main town. Andromache had a safehouse here, one with actual rooms and an actual kitchen. Usually she kept to caves. He had a cot in the main room with Andromache, while Yusuf and Nicolò took the one bedroom, but he usually chose to sleep outside in the hammock. The mosquitos were annoying, but the bites healed in moments so he did not truly mind. And sleeping under the stars, hearing waves crashing in the distance, made him feel more at peace. 

“Sebastian?” 

He looked up from his book, managing to give Nicolò a small smile. The other man was dressed in a loose linen shirt that was too large for him and kept slipping off one shoulder, and dark trousers. His hair, which he normally wore tied back, was loose around his collarbones. He looked like something out of an old painting, and Sebastian made a mental note to go for a walk that night. Yusuf could get awfully sappy when he wanted to. Sebastian would honestly rather hear them having sex. 

“Would you like some food?” 

He frowned. “I thought we ate it all,” he said. They had not yet gone for supplies, so had made due with what they had. It was enough, technically, but he was still hungry. 

Nicolò tilted his head to the side, offering him a small bowl. “It’s not much, but it’s something.” He made no mention of Sebastian’s fear of starvation, having died that way far too often. The others made sure to eat, but none of them seem to have his mind numbing terror of being unable to sustain themselves. 

He smiled at the much older man, taking the bowl and eating thankfully. “Thank you Nicolò,” he said. 

Nicolò just smiled ever so slightly. “We take care of each other,” he said simply, before slipping back inside. Sebastian ate gratefully, a knot in his chest easing when the pangs of hunger left him. He put the bowl by his side, and turned back to his book. The light was low, but there was still enough for him to make out the words, at least for a few hours.

“Sebastian! Mind if we talk about something?” 

He blinked, looking up to see Yusuf looking at him with a serious expression that was rarely seen. He managed to sit up somewhat (a difficult feat in a hammock), and nodded. “Of course.” It was much too dark to keep reading now anyway. 

Yusuf looked pained for a moment. “Nicolò...” he trailed off. “We should have told you earlier,” he said in an apologetic tone. “But it didn’t really occur to us. But Nicolò can have some issues. We all can. But his can be a little more damaging to himself.” 

Sebastian remained silent, unsure of where this was going. Nicolò always seemed fine to him - very quiet and very reserved unless he was comfortable (then he could talk your ear off, especially if it was about something he found interesting) but was overall kind and well adjusted to the life they had. 

Yusuf sat heavily in a rickety chair, making it creak alarmingly under his weight. “I’m telling you because you should know, and because we do not purposefully keep secrets from each other. But you must promise me you will not treat him any differently.” 

Sebastian nodded. “Of course.” 

Yusuf smiled faintly. “He’ll skip meals, stave himself. Not often, and not in many years, but it still happens. It started when he was a child and would give food to his sister, and then later to others in the monastery. The priests encouraged it. He also had a father who enjoyed hurting him, and a Priest who…” Yusuf trailed off, a strange ugly look crossing his face. Sebastian, who suspected where this was going, remained silent. “A priest who abused him for years in the worst way imaginable.” Yusuf sighed. 

“He fasts then?” Sebastian asked, not fully understanding. Food had been scarce when he’d been a child, so fasting was against his very nature. He would punish himself in other ways. He filed away the information about the Priest and of Nicolò’s father to think on when he was alone. He wanted to be drunk for that, free to wallow in his rage and grief on behalf of someone he now thought of as a friend and brother. It would join his other reasons to drink.

Yusuf’s lips quirked in another hint of a smile. “It is a way to feel in control,” he explained. “For so long in his life he was beholden to the whims of others, often in terrible ways, before we left the Holy Lands together.” 

Sebastian breathed in deeply, thinking over his interactions with Nicolò with new eyes, trying to remember if there had been times when the other man had not eaten, or had given his food away. There had. He glanced down at the bowl near his feet, sitting innocuously on the worn wooden deck. 

“You did not know,” Yusuf said immediately. “Don’t feel guilty.”

Sebastian managed a small smile, but remained silent, sensing Yusuf had more to say. 

Yusuf leaned back in his chair. “Another thing. It’s rare now, rarer even then his issues with food, but he can become… overwhelmed, I suppose is the best word. Never in a fight, or in a serious situation, but sometimes afterwards, once we are safe. In a crowd occasionally, or when someone reminds him of things best left in the past.” 

Sebastian sat up straighter, before remembering he was sitting on a hammock and wobbling, nearly falling. He knew it was only due to the seriousness of the conversation that Yusuf wasn’t laughing at him. “I know what you’re talking about, my friend.” He held up a hand when Yusuf opened his mouth, brow furrowed in confusion. “My eldest son, Henri...” he swallowed down the pain at mentioning his beloved child, long dead now. “There were times when he seemed to retreat from the world. He was always quiet, shy. He spoke late, and then only rarely. He’d comfort himself by biting his sleeves, or rubbing at the tips of his fingers.” He paused, thinking back on every interaction he’d had with Nicolò through the lense of a parent, something he never thought he would do again, especially for a man many centuries older than him. 

“Nicolò will scratch his hands and arms,” he observed, seeing the similarities. It hurt, thinking of his son, who had died far too young at sixteen of a fever, but he also felt useful. Like he could actually help his newfound family. “Henri would occasionally seem to forget how to breathe,” he remembered. “I used to have to help him, tell him to breathe with me.” 

Yusuf looked at him, wonder on his ageless face. “Allah was certainly blessing us with you, Sebastian,” he observed. “And yes - he hasn’t had an attack in decades now, and is able to tell myself, or Andromache, if he is feeling like one is close. But I suspect they will never truly leave him, just as while his problems with food have improved beyond my wildest imagination, but are not truly gone, and likely never will.” 

Sebastian, despite his years and his gruffness, blushed at the praise, and forced the conversation away from himself. 

“Is he…” he trailed off, unsure of what he was trying to ask. Was he starving himself again? Was he feeling like he was, as Henri had put it after an attack, drowning in his own mind? 

Yusuf shook his head. “He is not. He will miss meals, give them to us, as he does genuinely not feel the urge to eat at times, but he is not doing so as punishment.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Andromache and I are so used to it at this point we know what to watch out for, just as Nicolò knows to ensure Andromache’s sleeping enough. We learn each other - help each other breathe.” 

Sebastian nodded slowly, before smiling. “Thank you, for trusting me enough to tell me.” 

Yusuf looked confused, but stood, patting Sebastian on the shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “You’re family.”

Sebastian leaned back in the hammock once the other man had left, feeling raw and teary, but happy all at once. He missed his children and wife with a desperation that he didn’t think would ever leave him, and wanted more than anything to see them and hold them in his arms again - but maybe, just maybe, he could make a family here, with the odd group of immortals who had found him. 

  
  
  
  
  


Andromache stared into his eyes seriously. “It was just the once, yes?” 

Nicolò shrugged minutely. She narrowed her eyes at him knowingly. “Nicolò?” 

“Several times,” he admitted, rubbing his arm in an effort to calm himself. Andromache noticed the motion, but did not stop him. He wasn’t hurting himself yet, and Yusuf and Andromache had apparently decided to leave him be unless they thought he would cause himself pain. Quynh used to take his hand and have him braid and re-braid her hair, giving him something else to focus on. Andromache, the first time he’d had a bad turn after Quynh’s fate, had offered her own hair, but it had felt wrong in a way Nicolò had not been able to properly express. Andromache had known though, and closed her hands over his before pulling him into a hug, mourning Quynh together. 

She pursed her lips, looking pained. “Not like before though, right?”

He smiled at her, pleased he could give her the answer she was looking for. He would not lie to her, even about this. “No, and not often.” He moved one hand away from hers, scratching automatically at his forearm again as he thought back to his interactions with the Frenchman. “He fears starvation,” he observed. “I do not.” 

Andromache didn’t look impressed. “Promise you’re not hurting yourself,” she ordered. 

He stopped scratching his arm, laying his hand over hers. It was rare, especially after Quynh, for her to be so openly affectionate with anyone. He hated that he was worrying her, but also loved the obvious sign of her love. “I swear to you,” he said earnestly. “I’m not. I’ve given him my meals when I am genuinely not hungry, not out of any desire to punish myself.” 

She leaned their foreheads together for a brief moment. “You and Yusuf were there for me in the hardest moment of my life,” she said slowly. “I'll always be there for you, you hear?”

He nodded, throat tight. 

“Now!” she stood, slapping her hands together. “I’m going to take some rum, and the baby, to the ocean. I’ve seen the looks you two have been exchanging all day.” 

Yusuf, who’d just entered the small home, laughed. “You don’t want a show tonight?” 

Nicolò blushed, but smiled up at his beloved. There really wasn’t much shyness around the older three immortals, not anymore. Privacy was rare, after all, in their way of life. She’d seen them having sex (making love, as Yusuf would say when he was feeling particularly sappy) so many times by this point she didn’t even react unless they were trying something new. Then she would comment on their technique, and offer her advice. Sometimes they even took it. 

Andromache smirked. “I’d love one,” she teased. “ But I feel like we may break Sebastian. Maybe next year.” She left the room, patting Nicolò on the shoulder and elbowing Yusuf on her way out. 

Nicolò sat in silence for a moment, before giving his husband (for they were married, even if their respective religions did not technically allow it, and it was illegal in most countries) a look. “And?” he asked, in an old language only they knew. 

Yusuf sat beside him on the worn sofa, pressing into his side. Nicolò leaned against him in turn, savouring the closeness. “His son,” Yusuf started. “Was like you in many ways it seems,” he explained. He laced their fingers together, and used his other hand to trace lines on Nicolò’s forearms in the same place Nicolò would normally scratch when he got overwhelmed, when that awful feeling rose in his chest. 

“Sebastian said his son would bite his clothing or play with his own hands. And sometimes would seem to be unable to breathe properly.” 

Nicolò pushed closer to Yusuf, his hand spasming slightly. For so long, he’d thought himself alone. He knew better, in his good moments, but Yusuf never seemed to struggle like he did, nor did Andromache or Quynh, or even Sebastian. They were not perfect (though Yusuf was close), and had their own vices and ways of coping, but only Nicolò seemed to shut down, to forget something as basic as breathing, needing someone else to help him. Even Sebastian, with his drinking and dark days, could force himself to function. 

Yusuf kissed his temple, knowing where his thoughts had gone. “I love you,” he said. “So much.” 

Nicolò smiled. “And I you.” He sat in silence for a moment, before giving Yusuf a sly look. “And I, for one, would quite like to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy. What do you say?” 

Yusuf grinned, eyes darkening with lust. “I think that’s a brilliant idea,” he drawled. “Possibly one of your best.” He leaned in to kiss him, slow at first, but growing gradually more and more desperate. 

“A better idea,” Nicolò panted, pushing Yusuf back slightly. Somehow he had ended up half in his lap, though he wasn’t exactly complaining. “Would be to get out of these clothes, and into bed.” 

Yusuf laughed, pulling him close again. “Yes to the clothes,” he said, “but no to the bed. The floor’s closer.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**_1907, somewhere in Northern Scotland_ **

The mission had ended terribly. 

Nicky, as he was known now, and Booker (a nickname that had stuck) were camped out in a small hunting cabin, waiting for Joe and Andy to meet them after being separated. 

People were dead - children, women, and men. They had completed the mission, technically, but it was a mission Nicky would be second thinking for years to come. Especially as Joe had not been with him for most of it. He always found it easier to cope with Joe by his side. 

Booker slammed the door shut against the cold as he entered the cabin, visibly shivering. “I hate winter,” he mumbled in French. “And snow. I don’t care how pretty it is. It’s too damn cold.” 

Nicky managed a small smile, and poked at the fire some more. At least the cabin had decent insulation. They would be warm while they waited to rendezvous with the rest of their little family. 

Booker put several worn bags on the table. “I didn’t find much,” he said apologetically, “but there’s enough to keep us fed until this storm passes and we can venture out again.” He began sorting through the bags, pulling out various foodstuffs. Nicky didn’t think too hard about where he’d found them - knowing Booker, he’d robbed the nearby manor. Hopefully the English Lord staying there wouldn’t notice. That was the last thing they needed. 

He shook himself, feeling sick and shaky in a way he hadn’t in years now. The last thing he wanted was food. He was torn between wanting to sleep until Joe found him, or going outside and screaming until the knot in his chest loosened at least a little. 

He decided to sleep. 

Booker was doing well - he seemed less horrifically depressed by their fate - and Nicky didn’t want to put his issues on the other man. He knew Booker would understand, given what he’d told Joe about his own son years ago, but Nicky didn’t want to do anything to remind Booker of his dead child. That would just be cruel of him. 

“You eat,” he finally said, making sure to yawn. “I am exhausted.” It wasn’t even a lie - he was tired, but it was more than that. He was sure food would just make him ill. He wanted to feel hungry, to feel some modicum of control. 

Booker stopped what he was doing, giving him a shrewd look. But all he said was, “Would you like me to save you something for later?” 

Nicky shook his head, standing and shaking out his legs. He’d been kneeling at the fire for far too long. “No, thank you,” he demurred. “I shall eat in the morning.” _Maybe._

Booker watched him as he settled himself on one of the small cots, taking the one closest to the wall, but furthest from the fire. He despised the cold, and had died by it more than once, but Booker had frozen to death half a dozen times in Russia. He needed the warmth of the fire far more than he did. He dozed listening to his fellow immortal put their meagre amounts of food away, making himself a small meal, and then swearing as he fiddled with his clothing, hanging his wet things by the fire. The cabin was warm now, but there was a draft, especially when the harsh wind blew across the valley. 

Finally, Nicky slept. 

He woke, some time later with his chest nearly unbearably tight, his breath caught in his throat. For whatever reason he’d fallen straight into an attack, with no warning. He’d woken like this several times before, but always with Joe there to hold him, to soothe him through the worst of it, and comfort him in its aftermath. 

He managed to sit up, body slumped against the rough wooden wall, and desperately tried to get air into his stuttering chest. One hand scratched at his forearm, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain helped him to focus slightly. 

But not enough. 

Hands were suddenly on him - one grabbing the hand at his arm to stop him scratching, while the other cupped his cheek. 

“Nicky! Hey, Nicky!” 

After what felt like hours he managed to open his eyes, looking into Booker’s uncharacteristically open face. The Frenchman was sitting on the cot in front of him, hair mussed and some drool dried on his cheek, but fully alert. 

“I - ” he cut himself off, shaking worse than ever. He couldn't even get out an apology for waking his friend. 

Booker pulled one of his hands close, placing it on his own chest. “Can you copy my breathing?” he asked, voice low and calm, but insistent. 

Nicky tried, desperately, but couldn’t manage it. He made an odd noise, unable to get any air in. He would die from this, surely. From this ridiculous attack of his, from his own body’s failures.

Booker was still talking, but Nicky couldn't focus on the words. His tone was kind though, soft and steady. He moved the hand from Nicky’s cheek to his chest. 

“You’re alright Nicolò,” he finally heard. “You can do this. In, and out. Can you try that again? In, and out,” 

Nicky tried again, desperate for air now. The first breath was unsuccessful, but by the second he got _some_ air in, even if it was not nearly enough. 

Booker grinned, looking incredibly proud. It was an odd look on his normally morose face, and Nicky wished, in the small part of his mind that wasn’t overwhelmed, that he could see it more often. “Again, Nicky, can you do that again? Focus on my breathing.” He took a deep, obvious, breath, holding Nicky’s hand tightly to his own chest. 

It took what felt like years, but he slowly managed to obey Booker, to copy his breathing and calm himself somewhat. He collapsed forwards as the panic started to leave him, feeling weak and ill. Booker caught him easily, one hand going automatically to cup the back of his neck in a touch so kind and familial it made Nicky’s eyes fill with more tears. 

“I…” he swallowed, pushing Booker away to lean over the side of the cot, dry heaving violently. Booker held him up, and gently maneuvered him back when he stopped gagging, one strong arm around his still shaking form. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say, weakly trying to push Booker away. He felt guilty enough.

Booker just tightened his grip. “Don’t be,” he ordered, voice almost harsh in its conviction. “Not for this, not ever for this.” 

Nicky shook his head weakly. He hated how exhausted he felt, like he was a liability, after an attack. Sometimes the after effects would last for days, leaving him worn and shaky. The mission may be done, but that was still the last thing they needed, especially with Joe and Andy so far out. Booker had never seen him like this, and Nicky hated to think that he was forcing the other man to care for him like some sort of invalid, especially when he was likely being reminded of his son. 

“Nicky,” Booker continued. “Please,” he added, voice somewhat softer now. “You’ve been there for me through moments I am not proud of, moments I wish I could take back. Let me be here for you. Without you, Joe, and Andy…” he trailed off, a grimace on his face. 

Nicky allowed himself to relax somewhat, leaning into the other man’s warm side. The fire was still going, leaving the room comfortable, but sometimes human warmth was what was needed. And though Booker regularly shunned physical affection, he was family. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, after nearly ten minutes of sitting still, simply breathing slowly and steadily. He still had a hand held against Booker’s chest, and had no interest in moving it. It helped keep him calm, and he could tell that Booker did not mind. 

Booker’s arm tightened slightly. “Of course.” Nicky felt him swallow. “Henri used to wake up as well,” he said softly. “For years my wife and I kept him in our room with us, just to be there for him. When he decided he wanted to sleep with his brothers we used to take turns getting up to check on them.” He sighed shakily, and Nicky dared to move slightly closer, wanting to give his friend comfort. “He thought us overprotective, but I suspect he appreciated it.”

“I am sure that he did,” Nicky insisted, voice softer then he would have liked but still audible. He would have loved to have had someone care for him as a child after an attack, but his father had been the cause of many of them, the priests had found them to be a nuisance and sent him to his room when one came on so he had quickly learned to hide them, and Father Cosimo had found them amusing. Yusuf had been the first to not judge him, and simply offer his love and support. Likewise, Andy and Quynh had never said a negative word, only helped him when need be. 

“He was lucky to have you,” Nicky finally dared to say, hoping he was not overstepping by commenting. He had little to mourn of his former life, having only left behind his two surviving much elder brothers, one of whom had died of a fever when he’d been at the monastery. He could not imagine leaving behind children or a spouse. 

Booker let out an odd laugh that sounded closer to a sob than anything, and clutched Nicky even more tightly somehow. Nicky didn’t mind. He did not like touch as a rule, but when it was family that changed completely, and he often couldn't get enough. And he would never begrudge Booker his grief. He just hated that he didn’t know how to properly help him. 

“I was lucky to have him,” Booker finally said. “Now come on, I’m exhausted, and I know you are too,” he said in a soft tone, one Nicky had rarely heard. He wondered if it was the tone he’d used for his wife and children. He decided not to ask. They both felt too raw, too exposed, for anything more. This was enough. They fell asleep like that, sitting up on the worn cot, wrapped in blankets and warmed by the fire. When Nicky woke next, he was laying down and Booker was making breakfast - and burning it - but Nicky didn’t care. He was not hungry in the least, but managed to eat a small portion, not wanting to worry his friend and brother. 

The relieved look on Booker’s face made the nausea worth it. 

He didn’t skip meals to punish himself anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that he found it nearly impossible to eat when he felt overwhelmed, and that feeling hungry somehow helped ground him. But to stop his family from worrying about him he would eat. Booker would doubtless be recounting this to Joe and Andy (he would as well, even if Booker did not - there were no secrets between them after all), and he didn’t want to worry his husband or the sister of his heart. 

“Thank you Sebastian,” he finally said, looking into the taller man’s eyes. 

Booker swallowed once, a strange look passing over his face, sadness and joy all at once. “Of course, my brother.” 

Nicky smiled himself, and reached for another slice of apple. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_After Merrick,_ **

Joe wanted to kill him a thousand times. Wanted to make him suffer the same way that he had suffered, that Nicky had suffered. Booker, _their brother_ , had been willing to let him and Nicky be captured. Let them be tortured, all for the chance at relieving his own suffering. 

He could have offered himself - said he was the only immortal. Or he could have come to them, to his family, and asked for their help. 

But he hadn’t.

He had decided that he and Nicky were acceptable losses for his own desires, despite their centuries of companionship. 

“Yusuf?” 

He turned, tears streaming down his cheeks. Nicky looked back at him with his bright eyes wide, face somehow paler than normal. Joe wanted to kill Booker even more. That their brother, someone who had coached Nicky through panic attacks, made sure he was eating, read any book on anxiety and panic disorders he could get his hands on, would do this to Nicky of all people made him want to scream and cry. 

Nicky held out a faintly shaking hand to him. “Don’t Joe,” he said, as though reading his mind. “Not now.” 

Joe smiled grimly, and pulled Nicky into his arms, resting their foreheads together and breathing the same air. There was a wild edge around Nicky’s eyes, one that spoke of a level of anxiety not seen in decades by this point. Joe knew an attack would come, likely soon. Nicky had made everyone food (and eaten some at his and Andy’s insurance - Nile’s too, and Joe had seen something that looked like understanding in her empathetic gaze), stitched Andy’s wounds, and taken care of everyone to the best of his ability. 

Joe had let him, knowing caring for others made him feel more in control, and was his way of showing his love. It was a step up from his old methods, when he’d starved himself and barely slept. 

“Come,” he finally said. “Let’s go clean up and get some rest.” 

Nicky pulled back then, a frantic look in his eyes. Joe had spent nearly a thousand years looking at his beloved's eyes, yet still couldn’t decide on their colour. They were, however cliched it was, the windows to the soul, and Nicky’s were particularly expressive. “I want to check on Andy again,” he protested immediately. 

Joe pulled him close again. “I did,” he soothed, knowing from years of experience and loving the man in front of him that if Nicky didn’t calm soon he would be in for a severe panic attack. “Andy is fine - you patched her up, I checked on her, and Nile is with her now. She has some medical training, and knows what to look out for. She’d said she’d come get us if Andy needs us.” 

“And Booker?” Nicky finally asked, voice nearly inaudible. 

Joe pulled him close again, needing to feel his husband’s warmth against him, to know that he was alright. He had been terrified in the lab, watching Nicky be tortured and die, being confronted with Andy’s mortality and Booker’s betrayal, watching Nicky get shot in the _mouth_ and take what felt like years to wake up… everything. 

Nicky hugged him back so tightly it hurt, bringing him back to the present. 

They would be okay. 

They would hurt, and the events of the past few days would stay with them for years in all likelihood, but they still had each other. 

“Come,” he reiterated, pulling Nicky along. “You need to get cleaned up.” 

Nicky snorted, beautiful eyes faintly amused. “Have you seen yourself?” he asked nodding to his bloodied shirt. 

Joe just rolled his eyes, cupping the back of his husband's head gently, feeling the blood and gore in his matted hair. 

Nicky smiled sheepishly, before nodding in rueful understanding. He allowed Joe to pull him into the small shower, dismissing the bath. Joe would personally like nothing more than to hold his husband while luxuriating in a hot bath, but they were too filthy. Not to mention the tub was small. He’d wait until they had a proper place to bathe, when he could hold Nicky comfortably. They rarely used this safehouse, it being so out of the way, but that was what they needed right now. Also, it was under Nicky’s name, and somewhere Booker had not been. Hopefully that meant no one else knew about it either. 

He washed his husband thoroughly, gently slapping his long fingered hands away when he tried to help. Nicky took care of everyone else, often to his own detriment. Joe wanted to return the favour a hundred times over, and let Nicky know through his physical touch how much he loved him. Joe may have, as people often told him, a way with words, but he could never properly articulate just how he felt for his Nicolò. He was _everything_. 

He spent extra time on Nicky’s hair, washing the blood and brain matter away, uncaring of his own tears. 

Nicky grabbed his cheeks, gently caressing the skin above his beard. “I am here,” he promised. “I won’t go without you.” 

Joe kissed him, slow and soft. “Nor I without you,” he swore. “We go together or not at all.” 

Nicky managed a tremulous smile, before burying his pale face in Joe’s neck, breath unsteady. Joe got back to work quickly now, wanting to get them both dry and in bed. He knew from experience that there was sometimes no avoiding a panic attack, but often he could help just by holding Nicky in their warm bed. And, truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to hold Nicky as well, to ensure himself that they were both safe, that they had both escaped Merrick's clutches. 

They would have to make sure to thank Nile properly, somehow. They owed her so much. 

“Come my love,” he said, turning the water off. Nicky started shivering immediately. He had always run cold compared to Joe, and even to Andy, Quynh, and Booker. Joe didn’t think his hands were ever truly warm, even in hot climates. He was sure if they were mortal that would be something to worry about. He pushed Nicky’s hands away when he tried to help, meeting his eyes seriously. Nicky stopped, studying his face intently, before nodding slightly. Joe finished drying him off, then passed him the soft pyjamas he’d found in a drawer. They were old, and smelled faintly of dust, but warm. Nicky pulled them on slowly, exhaustion in every movement, before shrugging on one of Joe’s hoodies. Joe smiled at the sight, slipping on some pyjama pants as Nicky put on socks. Socks in bed… if he didn’t love this man so much he’d make fun of him for that. 

Nicky looked up, looking broken suddenly. “Why?” he asked, in little more than a whisper. “Why did he -” he cut himself off with a small sob, and Joe took that as his cue to surge forwards, clutching Nicky tightly. 

“I don’t know my heart,” he said honestly, allowing his own tears to fall anew. “But I don't want to think about him now. Right now, we both need to sleep.” 

Nicky nodded, breath still too fast for Joe’s liking, eyes too wide. He kissed him again, before pulling him into bed, arranging them so Nicky’s head was on his chest instead of spooning. They’d discovered fairly early on that he was useless when he first woke up, and that Nicky slept better when he knew Joe was literally guarding his back, but tonight was different. They had been here before, and Joe knew this was what Nicky needed. He himself was furious at Booker, but also knew in his gut he would not try anything. Nile, also, was bound to be on alert, and had proven herself to be more than capable. They could rest safely tonight. 

Nicky put a hand on Joe’s bare chest, right over his heart. Joe resisted the instinct to grab it, and instead pulled Nicky closer, kissing the top of his head. Sleeping like this, Nicky could feel Joe’s breathing, hear his heartbeat, and nothing calmed him more than knowing his husband was safe, hearing his slow and steady breaths. And Joe knew if (when) Nicky woke up, breath stuck in his chest and heart thundering, this was the best way to hold him, to help him. It had been decades since Nicky had been this distressed, but Joe would never forget how to help him. It was as natural as breathing. 

He started humming under his breath, an old song, with words he’d long since forgotten, if he’d ever known them at all. Against his chest, Nicky let out a slow breath. “I love you,” he whispered in Arabic. 

Joe tilted his chin up, kissing again. “I love you too,” he said, the words no less meaningful than the first time he’d said them. “Sleep beloved. I have you.” 

Nicky smiled up at him, just a small quirk of his wonderful lips, but honestly and sincerely. “I know you do,” he replied. “You always do.” 

Joe did not reply, just pulled the blankets over them. He was already slightly too warm, what with his husband's weight and the residual heat from the shower, but Nicky’s hands were cold, and his priority right now, always, was his husband. Nicky had taken care of him, of everyone, all night. He’d driven them away from London, cleaned them up, cooked them food, prepared beds, and comforted Nile when she’d needed it, praying with her after their small meal. The least Joe could do was take care of him now. 

“And I always will,” he swore. 

Nicky just pat his chest once, already nearly asleep. Joe watched the beloved face, taking in every minute change of expression. Nicky would not escape this unscathed, he knew. None of them would. Joe had already cried, already screamed and raged. Nicky would never do that, but the cracks were already starting to show. Joe would just help him when the break came, as he always would. 

He kissed Nicky’s hair again, damp and clean and smelling of lavender, before allowing his own eyes to slip closed, confident he'd wake if Nicky so much as twitched. They could deal with the world in the morning, for now, they just needed sleep and each other.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) He’s not a Crusader anymore and definitely doesn’t agree with them, and I normally hate fics that refer to Nicky as such, but this is from Bookers POV in the Napoleonic Era. He’s not exactly being politically correct. 
> 
> I haven't read the comics, but my impression of Booker was that he loved and adored his family, and was there for his kids. Maybe not in the right way, but he was there until the end. I'm not forgiving him for what he did, but do see why he was so broken by his immortality. I personally love the idea of him being a devoted parent. Also, I based Henri off of a real person and how his parents treated and loved him. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nile's turn! Because I adore her. 
> 
> Some mentions of child abuse and non-con in this chapter that are a little more blunt then in the former chapters. Nothing detailed, but just so you're aware. :)

**_Six months after leaving Booker on the Thames - Spain_ **

Nile got into the car with Nicky, too tired to be nervous about his driving. Which was, admittedly, incredible, but also absolutely terrifying. She desperately wanted him to teach her. She thought people only drove like him in movies, on a closed course, with a pit crew and emergency vehicles nearby. 

“You are alright?” he asked, giving her a concerned look out of the corner of his eye as he buckled up.

She snorted, looking him up and down. He was incredibly pale, and the dark circles under his eyes were frankly disturbing. She was also fairly certain he’d lost weight. “I’m good,” she finally said. And she was. She was adjusting to her new life, to her immortality well overall, but didn’t think she’d ever get used to killing. 

Even when people deserved it. And anyone involved in a child smuggling ring more than deserved it. Especially one that fronted themselves as priests. 

She either wanted a ton of food or a ton of sleep. Or both. Based on the tight look to Nicky’s eyes, he felt similarly about the sleep at least. 

She’d acted as his spotter, needing to learn how. Joe, she knew, had been displeased not to be at his husband’s side, but he knew there was wisdom in allowing her to learn on the job. And he and Andy could more than take a bunch of old creeps. She’d heard the sounds through their comms after all. She didn’t think she’d ever heard either Andy or Joe kill with such cold viciousness before. She was a little jealous. Killing people like that was a favour to society as a whole, one that she thought she would enjoy. 

She glanced back at Nicky, noting with concern how his right hand was tight on the gearshift as he switched into 5th gear. He let it go (the first thing he’d taught her was not to ride the shift or the clutch), his hand spasming slightly before he scratched hard at his arm. She fought the urge to grab it, knowing he would need to shift gears again soon. His other hand held the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she finally asked. She’d never seen him quite like this. He and Joe had both been a bit of a mess after Merrick (understandably) but had disappeared for nearly 48 hours after they’d made it to a safe house on the coast of Portugal, and when they’d emerged they’d seemed mostly fine. A little rough around the edges, and more like one person then two, but _alright_. 

He looked over at her, eyes almost silver in the pale glow of the streetlights, cheekbones standing out in stark relief above his faint scruff. “I do not like missions like that,” he admitted slowly, accent thick. Nile found it amusing that Joe and Andy had pretty much no accent to speak of, while Nicky couldn’t seem to shake his. She also knew it became more pronounced when he was feeling emotional about something. Which he clearly was now. 

She’d also noticed, pretty early one, that he was incredibly empathetic. He didn’t emote very much, not like Joe, or even Booker who wore his grief as a cloak, but it was there in his eyes. She’d seen how he’d taken care of everyone in the immediate aftermath of Merrick, how he’d cooked, made up beds, and forced everyone to eat even when he was clearly uninterested in food himself. Joe had eventually ushered him away to get cleaned up, and that had been the end of that. Nile hadn’t pushed. She loved them now, Andy, Joe, and Nicky, and knew they likewise loved her, but there were centuries of companionship between them. She had time to learn. 

But she would not let Nicky pretend to be fine when he clearly wasn’t. She wasn’t okay after that mission - and from the raw fury in Andy and Joe’s voices earlier - they weren’t either. 

“Why don’t we stop for some coffee?” she suggested, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. He was a complete sucker for them, as was Joe. She was pretty sure Andy would crack soon enough as well. She was just that good. 

He visibly swallowed, and ran a shaking hand through his long hair. He had mentioned cutting once, and Joe had looked like he was going to cry. Nile had just hid all the scissors she could find, much to Andy’s obvious amusement. Nicky and Joe were both unfairly hot, but Nicky looked surprisingly good with longer hair and a little bit of scruff. She’d even convinced him to let her braid it once, and he’d somehow managed to pull that off. 

“I’m not particularly hungry,” he finally said, voice almost too quiet for her to hear. 

She nodded in acknowledgement of his words, but pushed a little more. “My treat?” 

He glanced over at her, before smiling ever so slightly, blue eyes softening. “Alright,” he whispered. He turned abruptly, winding down a side street Nile hadn’t even noticed, before parking perfectly between two other cars. Nile sent a quick text to Joe, letting him know she was stealing his husband for a little longer before the other man could get too worried about their lateness. 

She got out of the car first, stretching with a groan. It was early, but some people were out and about, getting to their jobs and going about daily life. Nicky joined her, still looking too pale for her liking. She looped her arm through his, steering him into the quiet cafe easily and ordering for them both. Her Spanish had improved under the other’s careful tutelage, and though wasn't quite perfect, it was passable. And something told her Nicky wasn’t up to talking to a stranger. She ordered two double espressos, as well as several pastries. She wanted the sugar and the carbs, and was pretty sure Nicky needed them. Even if he didn’t know it yet. He took care of everyone else all the time, and Nile wanted to return the favour. Even if it was just with a willing ear and bought food. Because he was family now, and she loved him. 

She was also pretty sure she’d joked about him and Joe being her dads while drunk a few weeks back, but couldn’t actually remember. She’d have to get them a “World’s Best Dad” mug as a joke or something. 

She paid, and led him to a quiet corner, prodding him into the booth first before joining him, pressing herself close to his side. 

“Come on,” she said, holding out the sweet. “Just a little?” 

He took the pastry, nibbling on a corner. She decided to count it as a victory. She could tell Nicky had some issues with food, and likely with anxiety as well. She had been a psych major, and even though she hadn’t been able to use that much in the army, it had stayed with her. And, at her heart, she was the “mom friend. She liked taking care of the people she loved, even if it was just by offering them something to eat. Dizzy had had problems with anxiety as well...

“Do you want to talk about it?” she finally dared to ask. He raised an eyebrow in question. She just took his hand, marvelling at his soft palms. She knew calluses would just heal immediately, but somehow his hands seem softer than her own. She was a little bit jealous. 

He smiled slightly, and a faint blush rose on his cheeks. She watched in amusement - no one else she knew blushed like he could. It was rare (Joe could whisper the dirtiest things in his ear and he’d just roll his eyes) but she loved to be the one responsible. 

“Thank you Nile,” he replied. “But I’m okay.” 

She raised an eyebrow, not wanting to push him to confide in her, but wanting him to know that he could. That he didn’t need to pretend he was okay for her just because she was the ‘baby’ of their little family. 

“Bullshit,” she said bluntly, finishing her incredibly strong espresso. “You’re not,” she continued, smiling slightly as his startled expression. “You don’t need to tell me, but don’t just bottle it up. I mean, I doubt Joe will let you, but still. Don’t act fine for my sake.” She held his hand tightly, wanting to pour all the love and affection she held for him into her grip. 

She had seen how this mission had affected Andy and Joe, and had her own suspicions. Joe was always in Nicky’s orbit at the best of times, but he’d taken his hovering to a whole other level after Copley had given them the files. Andy, likewise, seemed to watch Nicky more, as though waiting for something to happen. Nile wasn’t an idiot, and could put two and two together. Something horrible had happened to Nicky, something the others knew about and wanted to protect him from. 

She wanted to as well, even if she didn’t know the exact details. Nicky was the one who’d stay up with her if she couldn’t sleep, and hold her when she was missing her family late at night. Joe tried, but slept like the dead once he was out, and often missed the faint noises she’d make when trying to pull herself back together, especially if they were in different rooms. Nicky didn’t. 

He looked down, a faint sheen of tears in his expressive eyes. “Thank you, Nile,” he whispered, squeezing her hand back with both of his. 

She grinned widely, heart swelling with affection for this kind man. “Anytime,” she promised. “Now,” she added, “Are you gonna finish that? Cause I’ve eaten like… three pastries and don’t think I can physically eat another one. And it would be a shame to throw it out.” 

Nicky looked at her, clearly seeing what she was trying to do. She just kept on grinning, uncaring of how obvious she was being. Food was love; her mother had taught her that, as had Nicky in many ways. She wasn’t about to let him go hungry on her watch. 

He flashed her a small, slightly sad, smile, and bit into the chocolate pastry.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Andy watched with careful eyes as Nicky and Nile entered the safe house, lugging weapons with them. She and Joe had long since washed off, and had had a much needed sparring session. He had tried to go easy on her, as he tended to now that she was mortal, but she’d stabbed him in the thigh and he’d quickly changed his tune. They both had too much energy to work off, despite killing their prey. She and Joe both had a particular hatred for those who would hurt children, especially when they knew it brought back terrible memories for Nicky. Quynh had been just as vicious and furious on his behalf when she’d realised the truth. She had taken a great deal of pleasure castrating men after that. She would be sympathetic, but they had more than deserved it. And more. 

Nile, she could tell, had her own suspicions, but hadn’t figured it out yet. Lucky girl. She was wonderful, but still innocent in so many ways. Andy hated for her to lose that, though knew it was inevitable. Even Nicky, with all his kindness, had his hard edges, though they were difficult to see. 

“She made him stop for coffee,” Joe said, noticing Andy watching them carefully.

She raised a thin eyebrow. She knew as well as he did that Nicky had barely eaten anything for the past week. Nile, they both knew, had noticed as well. She had not pushed, but she had taken to watching him just as closely as And and Joe. And really, if anyone could get Nicky to eat, it would be Nile. Nicky and Joe had essentially adopted her, despite her being a competent adult in her own right. She didn’t seem to mind, and took care of them in return. But, Nicky wouldn’t want to disappoint “the child” as they’d taken to affectionately calling her. 

“He’ll need more than a coffee and a bit of pastry,” she pointed out sourly. She was in a terrible mood, and made no effort to hide it. She was angry and worried - a terrible combination for someone like her - and still desperately wanted to kill someone. She breathed sharply out her nose, grabbing all their weapons. She’d content herself with cleaning them. 

Joe nodded sadly. “I’m going to help Nicky,” he said softly. “If Nile asks…” he trailed off, making a face. “Nicky doesn’t mind her knowing. And she probably should know in case there’s another mission like this, or if he has a panic attack when we’re not around.”

Andy grunted her agreement. Nile was good at not pushing, but Nicky was starting to unravel now that the mission was done. They could all tell. Copley had mentioned them moving onto another one immediately, but Andy had put her foot down, telling him that they needed time off. She would contact him when they were ready (when Nicky was ready) and not a moment before that.

“I’ll see if Nile’s willing to cook something. If not I’ll grab takeout in a bit.” 

Joe smiled at her thankfully, before leaving the room to see his husband. 

Andy got to work cleaning their weapons, starting with Nicky’s longsword. He hadn’t used it recently, but she knew better than almost anyone alive that weapons required maintenance. She would not allow any member of her family to go into a fight with a dull blade. 

Nile came in fresh from the shower nearly half an hour later, a pensive look on her face. “Joe’s with Nicky,” she said. “He looks worried.” 

Andy put down her now cleaned and sharpened labrys, closing her eyes. “Did Joe say anything to you?” she asked. He typically didn’t ask for help when Nicky was like this, but there had been times when they had both needed it. 

Nile shook her head. “He looked like he was going to cry,” she reported, plopping herself down on the floor across from Andy and reaching for a gun to clean. “Nicky was curled up against his chest so I couldn’t see his face. But Joe seemed more protective than normal.” Which was saying a lot, considering how protective both Nicky and Joe were of each other at the best of times. 

Andy sat back. “Nicky…” she sighed. “Missions involving children are difficult for all of us,” she said quietly. “I know this one was hard for you as well. But they bring back memories best left forgotten for Nicky.” 

Nile froze, breathing in sharply, but kept her eyes on the gun in her hands. 

Andy ploughed on, knowing it would be easiest for her and for Nile if she laid everything out logically rather than dancing around the subject. “His father abused him for years,” she said in a tight voice. “We all have scars from before our firsts deaths, from training accidents or childish stupidity. Nicky has more than the rest of us combined. And when he went to the Church as a youth a Priest took _interest_ in him.” She didn’t look at Nile, who was still frozen, and began cleaning Joe’s scimitar with efficient movements. “He’d just turned twelve. The Priest, Father Cosimo, died when he was sixteen.” 

Nile let out a sharp breath. Andy glanced up at her before returning her attention to Joe’s weapon. The younger woman looked furious on Nicky’s behalf. 

“Will he mind that you’re telling me this?” 

“No,” Andy said. “You should know.” She paused in her movements, unsure of how to continue. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that he skips meals when he’s stressed,” she stated, waiting for Nile’s nod of confirmation before continuing. “He used to starve himself, especially when he felt overwhelmed. He’s better now, and we’re all able to help him, but he’ll go through bouts every decade or so after a particularly hard mission.” The worst in recent memory had been after the Second World War. He’d been a part of the resistance with Booker, separated from her and Joe. Booker had been, admittedly, more than able to help Nicky and did not judge him for this, but he was no Joe. “He gets panic attacks as well, though we did not know what they were until relatively recently. We’ve all learned his triggers over the years, but sometimes they still happen.” 

Nile sat up straight, head tilted to the side. “More of a panic disorder then?” she asked. “Or GAD?”

Andy raised an eyebrow. 

Nile smiled softly. “My undergrad degree’s in psych,” she explained. 

Andy actually laughed despite the serious subject matter. “I couldn’t tell you,” she admitted. “But I’m sure there are elements of both. Booker could tell you.” 

Nile nodded thoughtfully, beautiful face determined. “How was Booker with all this?” she asked, sounding suspicious. Andy didn’t blame her. Booker had always had his own demons that he’d had difficulty facing, and Nile was warranted in her concern. Even if it was misplaced. 

“His son had panic attacks as a child,” Andy said simply. “Booker was wonderful with him, and with Nicky. It’s…” she trailed off, wondering whether or not she should continue. “It’s part of the reason his betrayal hit so hard.” 

Nile nodded again, before sighing. “Do you mind if I call him?” 

Andy shook her head. 

“I want to pick his brain a bit,” Nile explained, even though Andy hadn’t asked her to. “Would Nicky or Joe mind?” 

“Do whatever you want kid,” Andy told her indulgently. She recognised the look of determination in Nile’s warm eyes. She wanted to help, and wouldn’t let anything get in her way. 

Nile smiled softly, before finishing cleaning her gun with efficient motions. “Andy? Thanks for telling me. I kind of guessed something was up, and assumed it involved Nicky, but appreciate you guys trusting me enough to tell me.” 

Andy leaned forwards, cupping the back of the much younger woman’s neck in a gentle grip, resting their foreheads together. “You’re family now Nile,” she said in a soft voice. “Of course we trust you.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


She and Quynh had found Nicky and Joe shortly after the year 1200, and had loved them immediately. Joe had always been kind and gregarious, quick to joke or laugh. Nicky had been quieter then, prone to letting others speak over him and allow himself to fade into the background. For months Andy had simply assumed he was shy. And, to be fair, he was. He was introverted and enjoyed being with those he loved, and abhorred crowds. But it was more than that even. It had just taken them some time to realise, much to their later embarrassment. 

The first time had been while passing through a village several months after meeting for the first time. Yusuf had seemed to hover closer to Nicolò, an impressive feat considering how the two men were constantly in each other's vicinity, but Andromache had not thought much of it at the time. They were new to immortality still, little more than children. She pushed it from her mind, until she noticed something odd. Nicolò was scratching at his arm, breathing in an almost overly measured manner. He had not yet drawn blood, but Andromache could tell it was close. 

Yusuf took Nicolò’s hand in his, saying something in a low voice in their odd mix of Arabic and Ligurian. Andromache and Quynh were starting to understand them, but didn’t put much effort into it. They didn’t mind the boys having their own private language. They had several of their own after all. 

Nicolò nodded to something he said, and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. Yusuf still did not look pleased, and placed a hand on Nicolò’s lower back, still talking softly, his warm eyes earnest. Finally, Nicolò seemed to relax somewhat, and smiled ever so slightly. 

Quynh caught her eye, looking both concerned and confused. Andromache shrugged. She had no idea. 

They’d confronted Yusuf that evening. They rented two rooms at the inn and Nicolò had quickly begged off of drinking with them, instead choosing to sleep early. Yusuf had clearly wanted to stay with him, but Andromache and Quynh had convinced him to join them for a drink. Nicolò, looking much more relaxed, had kissed him gently before shoving him out the door. 

“What’s wrong with Nicolò?” Quynh asked, glaring almost accusingly at Yusuf. She’d come to adore Nicolò, treating him like she would her own child or much younger sibling. She was more protective of him then Yusuf was in many ways, much to Andromache’s endless amusement. Neither of them had expected to essentially adopt two baby immortals, but now she wouldn’t have it any other way. She just wished Lykon could have met them. He would have loved them as much as they did. 

Yusuf sighed, sipping at his tea. “You noticed?” 

Quynh kicked him under the table. Hard. 

“He…” Yusuf trailed off, eyes unfocused as he thought. Andromache put a hand on her lover's arm to help calm her impatience. Yusuf could talk about anything and everything, but he always took the time before speaking when it came to something important. And nothing was more important to him than Nicolò. “He does not like crowds,” he said slowly. “They make him uncomfortable.” 

“He seems fine in a fight,” Andromache observed. Nicolò was always the first to go and help, as demonstrated when he had dove headlong into a skirmish to save a travelling family barely a week past. 

Yusuf nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “He is.” He leaned back in his chair, brows drawn together. “He is fine when he must be. But afterwards -” he made a face, before sighing and rubbing at his beard in a way they had learned meant he was thinking. “Sometimes crowds are not an issue, but it is almost as though everything gets to be too much for him and being around too many people makes it infinitely worse. He… he had some difficulties before his first death.” 

Quynh reached out and grasped Yusuf’s free hand. “He had scars covering his back,” she noted. Andromache winced internally. They all had scars from before their first death, but even she had noticed that Nicolò had far more than any of them. She had known better than to ask. 

Yusuf nodded slowly. “When he gets overwhelmed he cannot eat. He’ll scratch his arm hard enough to draw blood at times, or rub his fingertips together. He says that doing so, and being hungry, helps to ground him.” He looked displeased, imagining the love of his life feeling anything but happy. “Several times he’s been unable to breathe,” he admitted. “It won’t last long, and he’ll tell me if he starts feeling it start to come on, but it’s terrifying for us both, and leaves him feeling ill for days.” 

Quynh tilted her head to the side. “Almost like his breath was catching?” she asked. Andromache raised an eyebrow at her. She wanted to go and check on Nicolò, to ensure he was alright, but also knew she needed to finish the conversation. Nicolò had never once balked in a fight. He hated to take lives unnecessarily, but she more than trusted him at her back. 

Yusuf blinked at Quynh. “Yes,” he said. 

Quynh nodded. “I’ve met several people in passing over the years with similar problems.” 

Andromache put that in the back of her mind so she could ask her lover to expand later. Right now she was more worried about Nicolò. “What causes it?” she asked, leaning forwards. 

Yusuf sighed. “Crowds, especially if he is unused to them.”

“Like he is now,” Andromache murmured. “What can we do to help?” 

Yusuf, to her annoyance, looked surprised. As though he had expected them to react negatively. Perhaps she would have, centuries ago when she was still young, but she knew better now. Nicolò was quiet, kind, and gentle for the most part, but was still vicious in a fight, and knew how to make words count. He had a gravitas to him that they did not, simply due to his profound words and fathomless eyes. He was allowed his weaknesses. And truthfully, Andromache would always prefer to be out in the open instead of in a crown, so she sympathised in a way. 

“He will push through if he has to,” Yusuf insisted once again, defending his absent lover. Andromache let him, and kicked Quynh under the table again when she went to comment. Now was not the time. Yusuf continued as though he had not noticed their interaction, though she knew he had. He didn’t miss much - nor did Nicolò for that matter. 

Andromache smiled at him. “But what can we do to _help_ him?” she reiterated. She wanted Yusuf to know that they would not abandon Nicolò, and therefore him, because of this. 

Yusuf huffed a small laugh. “If it comes on slowly it will start with him missing several meals in a row. He’s good at hiding it though,” he added, looking annoyed. 

“Has he been skipping meals recently?” Quynh demanded, looking as though she wanted to storm up and force feed Nicolò herself. 

Yusuf shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “This came on suddenly. He’s unused to people other than us touching and shouting at him. I suspected it may affect him, but only knew for sure when he began to scratch himself and his breathing changed.” 

Andromache nodded. “What can we do if he is unable to breath, and you’re not here?” 

Yusuf made a face, as she’d known he would, at the thought of not being there for Nicolò, but answered the question regardless. “Get him away from the crowd, if you are in one,” he said immediately. “Touch helps. I’ll usually put a hand on his cheek, and hold one of his hands to my chest so he can try and copy my breathing.” He shrugged, looking frustrated. “If he’s bad it won’t work for ages,” he admitted. “Talking to him helps, staying calm, but it’s hard.” 

Andromache exchanged a look with Quynh. She couldn’t even imagine how hard that would be for Yusuf, let alone Nicolò. 

“Has he ever…” Quynh trailed off, but her meaning was clear. 

Yusuf shook his head. “He’s lost consciousness,” he said in a low voice, looking defeated. “But never died. It… it terrifies him when it happens, makes him feel weak.” 

Quynh frowned, looking furious. “He is not weak,” she insisted, as though Yusuf was saying he was. Andromache grabbed her free hand, and reached out for Yusuf. He smiled weakly, grabbing her hand in a tight grip. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I am sorry we didn’t tell you earlier.” He sighed. “Nicolò was scared you would think him weak,” he explained with a small smile. “I was not going to push him, not on this.” 

Andromache wished he had, wished she’d known earlier, but knew better than to comment. She’d never experienced what Yusuf was explaining, so could not know what she would do in their position. “We’ll do whatever we can to help him,” she swore. Quynh nodded. Yusuf was well aware that Nicolò was the one that brought out softer feelings in the women, in everyone. He was just so damn _kind_. Sometimes it irritated Andromache. There was little room for kindness in the world. But despite everything, despite all he’d been through (and Andromache was beginning to realise he’d been through too much, too young) he was still fundamentally good. He was the best of them.

Yusuf smiled. “Thank you,” he said again. He brought their hands up, first Quynh’s and then hers, and kissed their knuckles. “Now, as much as I enjoy spending time with the two of you…” 

Quynh laughed, and the serious moment ended. “Go on then,” she ordered. “Give him a kiss for us.” 

Yusuf chuckled, but left for the room he was sharing with Nicolò, looking much more at ease. Andromache watched him go fondly, before turning to her lover with a sigh. “I never felt this… maternal… with Lykon,” she complained. 

Quynh laughed out loud, taking a large swig of her ale. She made a face at it after. “It’s watered down,” she complained. “Next time let’s stay somewhere nicer.” She took another large drink regardless of her complaints though, so Andromache knew she was not truly too annoyed. “I know what you mean,” she said. “They are our boys.” 

Andromache laughed, knowing that was the truth. And now they would be able to help Nicolò, and therefore Yusuf as well. They wouldn’t let them deal with this alone. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“I’m sorry,” Nicky whispered hoarsely. 

Joe tightened his grip, wrapping his husband in his arms completely. Nicky had his face pressed against his chest, tears soaking the fabric. He was shaking, but had not cried loudly, and not had a panic attack like Joe had half expected. He was simply feeling, allowing the emotions to run their course. He still had not eaten, but Joe knew not to push. That would only make Nicky feel worse. He’d had some pastry earlier with Nile - that would likely be all he ate today. 

“You have absolutely no reason to be sorry for my love,” he insisted. “No reason at all.” 

Nicky just burrowed closer, as though he could become one with his husband. Joe didn’t mind. He stroked a hand down his back, wanting to bring him comfort. It had been years since Nicky had been this bad off. He’d been a mess after everything that had happened with Booker and Merrick Industries, but then again they all had, and they had worked through that together. It hurt, but they had survived. 

These hurts were so much older, the memories so much worse. Joe desperately wanted to go back and kill Father Cosimo himself, as well as Nicky’s jackass of a father and anyone else who’d let him get hurt as a child. But he would have to make do with holding his husband instead, offering whatever comfort he could give. He started to him under his breath, an old song that he barely remembered, wanting to give Nicky something to focus on. Sometimes it helped, sometimes not. But he would always try. Several minutes later Nicky leaned back, looking at Joe with bloodshot eyes. “I hate feeling like this,” he said, voice thick with tears. His breathing was starting to pick up again, and Joe moved on hand to pull Nicky’s to his chest, ready to help in whatever way he could. 

“I hate feeling like he’s _won_ ,” Nicky continued, not noticing Joe moved him. “It’s been nearly a thousand years; I shouldn’t still be so affected.” 

Joe shook his head, kissing Nicky’s tear streaked face desperately. “He had not won,” he insisted roughly, “You are the strongest person I have ever known, Nicolò,” he promised. “You are so kind, so good. You have made me the man that I am today, and I want to be by your side for countless millennia. There is nothing about you I do not love.” 

Nicky snorted, biting his bottom lip to hold back another flood of tears. Joe gently tugged his lip away from his teeth, not wanting him to hurt himself even slightly. His breathing slowed again as he settled into Joe’s embrace, and for a while Joe thought he was going to fall asleep. Then: “I can still feel him,” he said, voice blank even as his breath started to quicken. “I _hate_ this!” 

“Oh my love,” Joe said, tears in his own eyes as he took in his husband’s devastated expression. He rested their foreheads together, pulling him close. “Oh darling. You’re allowed to feel, allowed to hate. I just wish I could take it for you.” 

Nicky shook his head, making a gasping noise, and Joe knew it was time to switch tactics. He sat up, pulling Nicky roughly into his arms. “I’ve got you,” he promised. Nicky twisted in his arms, burying his face in Joe’s neck and wrapping the other around his waist. Joe held him easily, opening his legs so Nicky could be more comfortable. He held him close, wrapping one arm up his back to hold onto his neck, while his other pulled one of Nicky’s hands onto his own chest. “Breathe with me my love,” he ordered. “You can do it, I know you can.” He kept talking, helping Nicky regulate his breathing, whispering endearments and declarations of love into his ear. He loved this man more than words could ever begin to express, and he hated that he was suffering so. Soon enough Nicky’s breathing calmed, and he shifted in Joe’s arms. 

“I love you,” he slurred. Then - “I’m sorry.” 

Joe kissed Nicky’s sweaty temple. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And I love you too. Do you think you can sleep now?” 

Nicky didn’t reply, just closed his eyes, moving slightly to rest his head against Joe’s chest. Joe wasn't surprised. They’d discovered early on that the best way for Nicky to sleep after a panic attack, or if he was feeling on edge, was to be curled against Joe’s chest, feeling him breath and listening to his heartbeat. He began to hum again, wanting to help Nicky forget everything. 

“Mind if we come in?” 

He glanced up, seeing Nile and Andy at the door. He looked down to the man on his chest, refusing to say yes or no until he knew what Nicky was comfortable with. Nicky looked up at his with red rimmed eyes, nodding ever so slightly. He turned back to the woman and smiled. 

Andy, being Andy, immediately climbed over him to sit on the bed on the side closer to the wall, before leaning over to whisper something in Nicky’s ear. His eyes filled with tears once more, but he nodded, giving her a tremulous smile. Joe’s heart broke as he watched them, knowing losing Andy would be the hardest thing they would ever have to do. He pushed the thought from his mind. “I’m going to lie us down now, alright love?” he whispered, smiling his thanks and Andy when she helped him maneuver himself and Nicky to a more comfortable position. Nicky was draped over his front, ear against his chest and hand fisted in his shirt. Andy gently unclench his fingers, lacing hers with them instead. 

“Nile?” Nicky mumbled, turning his head ever so slightly. 

The young woman smiled gently down at him, laying on the bed beside them with no sense of embarrassment. She met Joe’s eyes for a brief moment, grief and love shining through, before she turned her attention to Nicky. She rolled onto her side, swinging an arm across Nicky’s back. Her warmth was a welcome weight at his side, as was the love she brought with her. They may have only known her for six months, but Joe couldn’t imagine their life without her. She shuffled closer, and threw a leg over them as well, just for good measure. She was definitely the messiest sleeper out of any of them. He and Nicky would sleep tangled up in each other, but barely move all night, Andy tended to fall asleep in one position and stay, while Booker used to pass out drunk more often than not. Nile, however, slept with the abandon of a child, and he and Nicky frequently tucked her back in after she’d kicked off her blankets or lost her pillow. 

“I’m making American pancakes in the morning,” Nile declared, yawning. “No more of these thin ones. I want proper carbs.” 

Andy perked up slightly. “If we’re going American we need bacon,” she said with incredible seriousness. Joe rolled his eyes. They really needed to get Andy eating healthy food now that she was mortal. But then again, breakfast food had always been her weakness. She had an obsession with pastries. 

Nicky, almost asleep, tilted his head up ever so slightly, looking Joe in the eye. He looked slightly nervous, as he always did when the subject of food came up when he was anxious, but only slightly. Joe kissed him softly. They wouldn’t worry about it. Nile certainly wasn’t, and nor was Andy. Nile would make her (admittedly delicious) pancakes, Andy would steal bacon, and Joe would sit on the comfortable sofa with Nicky at his side. If Nicky ate, that would make Joe’s day, but he wouldn’t push it. Not after the mission they’d had, and neither would Andy or Nile. Nile would then convince Nicky to help her with the puzzle she’d bought, while Andy would scoff at it but inevitably end up helping when Nicky gave her The Eyes™ and Nile gave her that wide grin none of them could say no to. And he would draw them, taking in his family being happy. 

They had a ways to go until Nicky felt better after this, until the memories weren’t at the forefront of his mind, but that was alright. They would manage together. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_A month later, Denmark_ **

Nile entered the small jewelry store, pushing her hood off and taking off her gloves at the rush of warm air. They were in Denmark, and while Nile could readily admit it was beautiful, she would have much rather visited in the summer. She’d had enough of the cold growing up in Chicago. 

“Kan jeg hjælpe dig?”

Nile winced. “Ummm… Engelsk? Ingen dansk.” She’d made good progress with Italian, French, and was slowly getting better at Arabic, but her Danish was terrible. She just hoped she hadn’t botched that small sentence too badly. 

The woman smiled slightly. “I speak English,” she confirmed. “How can I help you?”

Nile smiled. “I was looking for something like this?” she said, showing the woman her phone. “It’s for my brother.”

The woman took the phone from her, scrolling through the images Nile indicated. She’d talked to Booker, and done research on her own, and thought she’d found a small way to help Nicky. She’d noticed that he tended to rub at his wrists frequently, or scratch his forearms if he was beginning to feel worse. The team all had their methods to help him, and he was more than capable of helping himself, but if she could make him feel even the slightest bit better she would. The worst that could happen is that she would waste her money on something that wasn’t going to get used. She could deal with that. 

The woman handed her phone back, giving her a shrewd look. “What’s it for, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“He has anxiety,” she said simply. “He’ll rub his wrists a lot, or scratch his arms to centre himself.” 

The woman smiled. “My granddaughter is autistic,” she said. “It’s how I got into making jewellery for stimming.” 

Nile smiled at the woman. She’d been pointed in this direction by the first shop she’d gone in when she’d mentioned what she was looking for, and it was no wonder. And it meant she didn’t have to risk annoying Andy by shopping online. 

The woman grabbed something from under the counter. “I don’t have much, most pieces are custom made,” she explained, “but you can get an idea.” 

Nile glanced over the jewelry with a curious eye. It was all beautiful, in a simple way, with moving pieces or interesting textures. “How long would a custom piece take to make?” she asked. They had a small mission (the first since the one in Spain) that was mostly information gathering. It would take a month, according to Andy, if not a bit less. 

“Depends on what you want,” the woman said. “But if you’re leaving soon I can rush it for a fee.” 

Nile nodded, not even considering the cost. She had money now, and this would be more than worth it if it helped Nicky. “I was thinking of a bracelet,” she explained. Nicky wasn’t the type to wear necklaces, and he only wore his wedding ring. He did have his ears pierced though, which Nile loved. He looked unfairly good with small hoops. “He’ll grab his wrist anyway, so this won’t be too much of a change. Umm, he’s not much for fashion, so nothing fancy. Something durable.” 

The woman got out a small sketch pad, and quickly drew several designs. “See one that would suit him?” 

Nile looked them over carefully. “That one,” she said firmly. It was simple, but had enough moving parts that Nicky would hopefully be able to fiddle with it instead of hurting himself. 

The woman smiled. “What materials would you like it made with?” 

“Can it be made out of platinum?” she asked. She wanted something durable, and knew enough about jewelry to know platinum lasted forever. 

“It can, but it won’t be cheap,” the woman warned. 

“That’s fine,” Nile said firmly. The payout from the last job alone had been massive. “Do you need a deposit now?” 

  
  
  
  
  


Several days later Nile picked up the bracelet, trying on herself. It was too big on her, but should be perfect for Nicky. She hoped. The jeweler said she’d resize if necessary, but Nile would rather it just be perfect. 

“Thank you so much,” she gushed. “It’s absolutely perfect.” 

The woman smiled. “I’m glad you like it,” she said. 

Nile grinned. “It’s better than I expected,” she said honestly. She put it back in the box, and allowed the woman to wrap if with efficient movements. “Thank you so much for all your help.” 

The woman smiled, handing her the box. “It was my pleasure,” she said, sounding sincere. “I enjoy helping people, and hope this will help your brother.” 

Nile nodded. “I’m sure it will,” she said. Even if it didn’t, she knew he would appreciate the thought. “Can I pay with card?” 

She paid (expensive, but more than worth it) and left the shop, feeling hopeful. She picked up some æbleskiver, a pastry she’d quickly become addicted to and would miss when they left Denmark, and some wine, before starting the cold walk back to their AirBnB. It wasn’t a long walk, not like she used to have to do on her way to school, but she was properly chilled by the time she made it back. 

“Nile!” Joe saw her first. “Come and get warm, you’re freezing!” 

She shook snow off her coat, letting Joe take it from her and usher her into the kitchen. “It’s not as bad as Chicago winters,” she said. “Those were bad.” 

Nicky made a face. “We spent one winter in Chicago,” he told her. “Never again.” 

Joe nodded. “It was before central heating,” he added. “I don’t recommend it.” 

Andy, coming to join them, rolled her eyes. She's obviously heard this before. “Smells good,” she commented, peeking over Nicky’s shoulder. He hit her with a wooden spoon. 

“Go away,” he ordered. Andy held up her hands in surrender, and backed off with a smile. Nile wasn’t fooled. Andy was a monster in the kitchen, always trying to take food while people were cooking. 

“I brought wine,” Nile said. “And dessert.” 

Joe poured her a glass, kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you, tesoro,” he said. 

They ate while watching a movie (Andy’s choosing this time, some sci-fi thriller that had Nile rolling her eyes), before Nicky slipped into the kitchen to do the dishes. Andy usually insisted on doing them, as she didn’t cook, but movie night knocked her out everytime. She was a typical old person in that regard. Joe, being Joe, carried her to bed. 

“I have something for you,” Nile said, drying the last dish. Nicky had tried to insist that she didn’t need to help but she had just ignored him. She’d tried to tell him not to clean at all after cooking, but that had been a losing battle, and she’d quickly given up.

“Oh?” he looked at her in surprise, bright eyes wide. He was doing a lot better now, Nile knew, but she also understood that this was something that would never truly leave him. She wanted him to know that she would be there for him. He and Joe were, in many ways, parents to her now. They cared for her more then anyone besides her mother and brother (and Andy, but that somehow felt different), and she was genuinely excited to be able to help him. Joe had spoken to her after the mission in Spain, thanking her profusely for being so supportive. She’d waved him off, because of course she would be supportive, but felt like she wasn’t helping enough. She’d called Booker to talk to him about Nicky, feeling odd doing so considering what he’d done, but also better. 

She’d also wanted to talk to Booker to make sure he was okay, but that was a whole other issue. 

She passed him the box, hopping into the counter to watch him eagerly. “Can I?” she said, reaching over for the bracelet once he’d opened it. He nodded, looking curious. She fastened the piece on his wrist, before giving in and ruffling his long hair. It was almost to his chin now, and she thought it suited him way more then the short hair he’d had when they’d met. “It’s a stimming bracelet,” she explained, holding his hand. She moved a small bead around the diamond shape attached to the chain, then another. “If you’re feeling anxious, you can use this instead of scratching your arm,” she finished softly. 

Nicky looked down to his wrist with renewed interest, fiddling with one of the platinum beads with a studious look on his clean shaven face. “Nile…” he said. “I…” 

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” she said in a rush. “I know jewelry isn’t really your thing, but I thought -” 

Nicky cut her off, pulling her into his arms. She melted into his embrace, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. Nicky and Joe gave the most phenomenal hugs. “I love it, Nile,” he said softly, accent thicker than normal. “I really do. Thank you.” 

She teared up slightly despite herself, feeling a well of affection for the impossibly kind man in her arms. “I saw someone with a ring like it on instagram,” she explained. “I know you don’t really wear jewelry like Joe does, but you’ll grab your wrist and I thought that this could maybe help. I totally won’t be offended if you don’t like it though!” 

“Nile, Nile!” he chucked, pulling back slightly and cupping her face in his long fingered hands. “I love it. Honestly.” He had tears in his eyes as well, and an uncharacteristically wide smile on his face. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

She dove back into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You don’t have to,” she insisted. “I wanted to get it.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “Nevertheless, thank you Nile.” 

Another set of arms abruptly enveloped them both, making Nile laugh. Joe laughed in response, lifting bother her and Nicky briefly off the ground. Nile freed herself first, watching indulgently as Joe tilted Nicky’s chip up to kiss him sweetly, face soft. They were absolutely the cutest couple she had ever seen. She genuinely didn’t understand how Booker could ever think anything else. 

“Let’s watch another movie,” she said after they’d broke apart. “Something without aliens please.” 

Joe laughed, one arm over Nicky’s shoulders while Nicky automatically wound an arm around his waist. “Andy does love sci-fi,” he agreed, but pulled an unresisting Nicky into the living room, so Nile knew they were okay with watching something else. She ended up picking The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, especially when she realised they hadn’t seen it. A travesty, in her opinion. By the second episode Joe had noticed the bracelet and was inspecting it, looking slightly teary. Nile turned away, giving the men a moment to themselves. 

Four episodes later Nile was exhausted, and Nicky was basically sleeping on his feet when Joe pulled him off the sofa. Nile raised an eyebrow. “Need some help?” 

Joe grinned back at her, before prodding Nicky in the direction of their bedroom. “I’m good,” he responded. “But thanks Nile.” 

She waved a hand at him, retreating to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. She made her way upstairs slowly, yawning wide enough to crack her jaw. “Nile?” She looked up, sending Joe a smile. He was wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else, and Nile had a brief flashback to a certain meme. She shook the thought from her mind. 

“What’s up?” She walked into her room, putting her water down on the bedside table. She debated on just falling into bed fully clothed, but shook the thought from her head. She’d just regret it when she woke up at three am annoyed at her jeans. 

He pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her easily off the ground. She grinned, wrapping her arms and legs around him easily. His hugs were just incredible. 

“Thank you, so much Nile,” Joe whispered. “You are truly a gift.”

“All this over a bracelet?” she teased, letting her legs drop back to the floor. He stepped back, cupping her face just like Nicky had earlier. 

“No,” he said. “Though it is incredible. But for being you. For being willing to help Nicky, help all of us. You are a gift.”

Despite herself, Nile blushed. Joe had a way of making you feel like you were the most important thing in the world. “I just want to help,” she said. 

“And you have,” Joe told her. “More than you could possibly know.” 

He hugged her again, kissing her on the top of the head. Nile decided she was definitely going to get him and Nicky matching “World’s Best Dad” mugs, just to see their reactions. She knew her own father wouldn’t mind. He would love that she had Joe and Nicky, and Andy. 

“See you in the morning,” she said, desperate for sleep now. He just grinned, and slipped from the room to return to Nicky. She really didn’t get how they could sleep so close to each other, she for one loved having space in bed. 

She managed to change into pyjamas and brush her teeth, looking through Nicky and Joe’s open bedroom door as she went back to her room. The two men were sleeping in their normal position, Joe pressed against Nicky’s back, arms entangled. They looked incredibly sweet, even if Nile did know that there was a gun waiting by Nicky’s pillow. The guy could wake up faster than anyone she’d ever met. 

She shook herself, before going back to her room and falling into bed, feeling loved and safe with her new family. She missed her mother and brother so much it sometimes hurt, but the pain was lessening, especially as she knew in her heart that she had done the right thing. 

Before going to sleep she added a note in her phone’s calendar for father’s day. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but knew she wanted to do something, even if it was just to see the men’s reactions. 

She added one on grandparents day as well, just to piss off Andy. She’d heard Joe joke about her mothering Nicky after all, so that kind of, in a roundabout joking way, made her the grandma of the family. 

She’d just have to make sure to record Andy’s reaction. It was sure to be glorious. 

Finally she turned on her headphones, intent on falling asleep to one of her favourite playlists. She hadn’t dreamed of Quynh in weeks, so was feeling hopeful about getting a good night's sleep. She’d been worried that she would dream of the other woman every night, but soon realised that wasn’t the case. Though she would rather not dream of her at all. It made her far too aware that they were missing someone (two someones) from their family. 

She shook the thought from her mind, determined not to worry. She had all that she needed right here, in this house. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danish is from several translation sites cross referenced, but I speak ZERO Danish, so please let me know what I need to correct! According to Google 86% of people in Denmark speak English as a second language, so I’m going with it not being too outside of the ordinary for a shop owner to speak it fluently. 
> 
> I started writing a chapter with Quynh as well, cause why now. I know we don't know much about her character (for us that haven't read the comics) but I have my own head-canons lol, and want more family fluff. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! This one was tricker to write for some reason, but I got over that hump today and wrote a good 20 pages haha. Nile is just amazing.
> 
> [HERE](https://www.fancyfidget.com/store/p54/A_la_Carte_Fidget_Convertible_Bracelet_Chain.html#) is a link to a similar bracelet to what Nile got Nicky - just in platinum instead, and with a couple more of the beads to fiddle with. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Quynh appears! My version of her (post Iron Maiden) is a mix of some random tumblr crack posts, other fics I've read, and my own head canons based on the brief glimpses we saw of her in the movie. I haven't read the comics though, so it's definitely not canon compliant. I'll likely be proven wrong the second the movie comes out, but that's okay. I'm pretty happy with how she turned out here at least!

Nile took her latte from the barista with a wide smile. She loved Nicky and Joe, she really did, but they were _snobs_ about coffee, and all she wanted was something over the top sweet. She’d have to hide the evidence, but that was alright. She skimmed the cafe, intent on finding a place to drink her latte and listen to music, when a person stepped in front of her. 

“Sorry!” she said, stepping to the side so the well dressed woman could pass. 

“Nile Freeman,” the woman said. 

Nile’s heart sank to her feet as she took in the speaker. It was Quynh. She would recognise her face anywhere. Joe, wanting her to know the real Quynh and not the furious woman trapped under the sea, had shown her his drawings, and Nicky had told her stories about her. Through them she felt as though she should know her, but she had never really expected to actually meet her. 

“Shall we sit?” 

She nodded dumbly, unsure of how else to react. She was honestly shocked the older immortal hadn’t killed her yet. She took Quynh in as they sat in a secluded corner of the cafe, looking her over. She looked like a modern woman, wearing wide legged black trousers and a red silk blouse. She had some makeup on as well, applied with far more skill then Nile would ever be able to manage. 

Quynh but her handbag carelessly on the table. “I went to see Booker first,” she said with a small eye roll. “Just to stop dreaming of the annoying man. The French are almost as terrible as the English. He, of course, had no idea where you all were, but I convinced Copely to tell me, then convinced him to keep my return a secret.” Her red lips twisted in a smile. “It took some effort, but it is worth it. I was not, however, expecting to run into you in a coffee shop, Nile.” 

Nile swallowed, unsure of how to respond. “I was craving a latte,” she said in a soft voice. 

Quyhn laughed, a beautiful sound that surprised Nile. “They are delicious,” Quynh agreed, reaching over and stealing her drink. She took a long sip, eyes closing in bliss. “You have good taste,” she complimented. 

Nile finally managed to gather herself more. “Why… Why are you here?” she demanded. 

Quynh gave her back the latte, leaning back in her chair and giving Nile a shrewd look. “I spoke to Booker,” she said with a frown. “I dreamt of what he did, how he betrayed you all. Of my Andromache’s mortality.” She paused, eyes far away. “I am furious with the Frenchman, but had no interest in remaining with him - he smells like a cheap winery. Killing him would be too much effort, despite how satisfying it would be.”

Nile opened her mouth to reply, before closing it abruptly. “Why are you _here_?” she finally demanded, feeling like they were just talking in circles. She didn’t do well with that. She was one to take charge, not dance around a subject. 

Quynh raised a perfect eyebrow as though the answer to that question should be obvious. As though Nile should know what a woman who’d been trapped in an iron maiden in the sea for 500 years should have clear motivations. “To find my family,” she replied. “I have missed them dearly.” 

“But…” 

Quynh’s lips twisted into a brief grimace, before it smoothed out again, her face blank. “You think I would hurt them?” 

Nile laid her hands on the table, trying to gather her thoughts. She wanted to be honest with Quynh, but also didn’t want to get killed in a cafe or risk any of the other people sitting around by angering her. “You felt…” she swallowed. “Furious in my dreams,” she finished, deciding against saying crazy. The dreams had tapered off, thankfully, but they had always been the same. Hands beating at iron, darkness, pain, and so much rage it made Nile feel sick. 

“Wouldn’t you be furious?” Quynh asked, sounding genuinely curious. She laced her fingers on the top of the slightly sticky table, head tilted to the side like a cats. “Or would you rather I say insane? The pressure of the water, the blackness of being so far beneath the surface… it was horrible. A nightmare come to life. But I would see my Andromache and my boys through Sébastien’s dreams. I heard them tell him how hard they looked, everything they tried, how they went out again when technology improved. How they killed themselves trying to find me too many times to count. I could not live with myself if one of them had suffered a permanent death looking for me.” 

She smiled then, laughing brightly at the look on Nile’s face. Nile purposefully smoothed her expression, waiting for the other woman to continue. 

“I reserve my judgement on the Frenchman,” she said, a slight sneer twisting her lips. “How he could be with the others for two centuries and still hurt them so…” she shook her head. “But you, little sister, have been wonderful, truly. And you appreciate a good latte, so I appreciate that. Nicolò and Yusuf are far too snobby about their coffee, I can imagine. And food in general.”

“Thank you,” Nile said dumbly. “And they are, snobby that is. But I made American Mac and Cheese the other day and they didn’t complain, so I’m taking that as a victory.” 

Quynh grinned, looking just like the woman from Joe’s drawings, and Nile found her anxiety melting away. She was good at reading people, always had been, and she genuinely felt that she could trust Quynh with the others. Definitely not with Booker, but she also didn’t think they could trust Joe with Booker yet, so that was okay. Nicky was still angry at him as well, but he was far more likely to give him the cold shoulder for years then verbally eviscerate him. Or physically if seeing Booker sent Nicky into an anxiety spiral and Joe was feeling protective. Nile didn’t think she could even blame Joe if that happened. No, it was best if Booker kept to himself for at least a little while more. 

“Want a latte?” she asked, finally sending the other woman a smile. Quynh grinned back. 

“I would love one Nile.” 

Quynh followed the impossibly young immortal to the safehouse the others were staying at, looking around curiously. The city was beautiful in the spring sun, and she was more than a little tempted to stop in the Market they’d walked through. She’d got a lavender white hot chocolate that was spectacular, while Nile had settled on an iced coffee, apparently wanting to be well caffeinated for what was to come. They passed a Vietnamese restaurant that looked absolutely delicious, if a little run down, and Quynh was almost tempted to ask Nile to stop, before deciding against it. Nile had picked up some sandwiches for the others, so it wasn’t like they needed food. She’d just make Nicky come with her later - he would love it, she was sure. They passed by a liquor store, where Nile quickly ducked inside, mumbling that Nicky had asked her to pick up a bottle of vodka so he could make some sort of sauce. Quynh didn’t stop her, and simply held out her hands to carry Nile’s coffee and the bag of food as Nile entered the building. 

They turned off of Spadina and onto Baldwin Street when Nile returned, laden down with yet another bag. “How are they?” she finally asked. “Honestly.” They had spoken at length about Booker, but other than that conversation had been light. But she wanted to know how her family was coping with near desperation. She wanted to know that Andromache was coping with her newfound immortality, and realising she had to be careful with herself. She wanted to know that her boys (for they were still her boys, for all that they were nearly a thousand years old) were still as in love as ever, and that they were happy and safe. 

Nile shrugged. “Andy is coping,” she said honestly, glancing at Quynh with warm eyes. “She seems to have taken losing her immortality better than any of the others. It’s weird, but she’s honestly doing well. Joe and Nicky are on her case about eating well and not drinking,” she laughed. “I think she’s only agreeing to indulge them.” 

Quynh huffed a small laugh. “She was always rather indulgent of them,” she agreed. Not that she wasn’t. “They seemed so young when they came into our lives, we could not help but care for them immediately. It took us nearly a century to find them, so we felt as though we knew them inside and out by the time we first met.” 

Nile looked for cars, before crossing the street. A mother with a stroller smiled at them. Quynh smiled back, resisting the urge to look at the baby. She was terrible with small children (as was Andomache) but she did find them adorable. 

They passed a school, the yard filled with happy children, and walked in silence for a minute. “Thank you Nile,” she finally said. The younger woman looked at her curiously. “You have been wonderful to them.” 

Nile shrugged. “Andy’s pretty great,” she said. “And Joe and Nicky are…” she trailed off, as though not knowing how to describe the two men. Quynh knew the feeling. They were her little brothers, her best friends, and her children all in one. 

“This way?” she asked instead, nodding her head at the intersection. Nile nodded. 

“We’ll cross then turn left, the safehouse is just up here. It’s one of Nicky and Joe’s,” she explained, crossing when a car waved them on and turning onto Beverly Street. “From when they went to University here in the 90’s. It’s about a ten minute walk to the campus from their place.” 

She let herself into the house without knocking, ushering Quynh in first. Quynh shook her head. She had always enjoyed surprises, and wanted to be able to savour the others faces. Nile shrugged, before yelling for the boys. “I bring FIKA sandwiches!” she shouted. 

“You’re a saint Nile!” Quynh heard Joe yell back, sounding happy and carefree. 

Nile looked to Quynh, a considering look on her beautiful face, before she shouted again. “Come help me with the bags you two!” she ordered in a firm voice. “I have a surprise for you.” 

Quynh suppressed a smirk. She knew she’d love Nile. Anytone who indulged her mischievous side was automatically her favourite. Joe shouted something back, before walking into the foyer. He was looking back over his shoulder, saying something to Nicky, before he turned. The grin fell from his face and his dark eyes widened, immediately filling with tears. He glanced at Nile, as though wanting her to confirm what he was seeing was real, before he was in front of her. “Are you really here?” he breathed, one hand going up to cup her cheek. 

She leaned into his touch, her own eyes filling with tears despite her wide smile. “Yes little brother,” she whispered. Joe embraced her almost too tightly for comfort, shuddering in her arms. She soothed him automatically, as she had many times before. She and Joe were frighteningly similar at times, though she was considerably more vicious and wild, and she had missed him more than words could say. He moved back first, cupping her face in his large hands. 

“I have missed you,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. He turned his head to the side. “Nicky! Come here!” He turned back to Quynh, and she pulled his face down, kissing him on the forehead. 

She could hear Nicky (the name suited him, though it would take some time to get used to, just like Joe seemed odd) mumbling something in Italian about dinner and how he still had things to do, before she saw him. She took him in greedily, looking at the fall of his hair, the faint scruff on his jaw, and his elegant hands. “Surprise!” she said, before stepping away from Joe and opening her arms. Nicky stood completely still for a long moment, simply staring at her with impossibly wide sea green eyes, before letting out a wet gasp and collapsing against her. She held him up easily, despite his greater height and weight, greedily holding on. Joe joined them a moment later, arms somehow encircling them both. 

Quynh let go first, cupping Nicky’s face, taking in his features eagerly. He looked good, not nearly as terrible as he had looked in Booker and Nile’s dreams after the betrayal. Joe, in those dreams, had seemed furious and hurt, pacing the room of the safehouse with tears on his cheeks. His anger burned hot, but quickly. Nicky’s on the other hand, was cold, and tended to grow. Quynh suspected that Joe’s anger had nearly left him by now, though not his hurt. Nicky, on the other hand, was likely still angry, and still blaming himself. She blamed the Catholic Church for that unhealthy tendency. 

She was the one who held grudges the longest, and would gladly remain furious at Booker for centuries to come. Her Andromache was the type to fight (or fuck) out her feelings usually, but Quynh knew she would hold onto to her anger far longer then usual considering the circumstances. Booker had not just hurt her (which she could forgive) but he had hurt Nicky and Joe. That would take longer to forgive, and was not something she would ever forget. Her newfound mortality complicated matters, and Quynh knew in her soul that Andromache would need to see Booker again, someone who’d been in the family for centuries, before her inevitable permanent death. But that was alright. Quynh would remember for all of them. 

Nicky leaned forwards, resting his forehead against hers. “How are you here?” he rasped. 

She stroked a hand over his hair, closing her eyes. “The lock rusted away,” she said simply, not elaborating. It had taken months to find them, to acclimatize herself to being on land, to being in an entirely new century, but that did not matter to her now. 

Joe made a pained sound. “I…” 

She stepped on his foot, seeing in his eyes that he was going to apologise for giving up, for not looking for her. She understood, but did not want her return marred by guilt. “No,” she said simply. “Where is Andromache?” 

Nikcy and Joe exchanged one of their looks, before Nile answered. “She went for a walk earlier,” the young woman said. “She brought her phone, but I’m pretty sure it’s not charged so it’s probably dead by now.” 

Quynh couldn’t blame her love. She had a phone, technically, but rarely used it, and charged it even less. It just seemed superfluous to her. She’d managed centuries without one after all. 

“I’ll go find her,” Nile offered, handing Joe the bag of sandwiches. “You guys should spend some time with each other, I know the city well enough by now. And,” she added, flashing them a grin. “I do have a charged phone.” 

Quynh eyed her for a long moment, before grinning as well. “Keep me a surprise,” she ordered. 

Nile made a face. “I make no promises,” she mumbled darkly, showing that she did, indeed, know Andromache rather well by now. The ancient woman hated being kept in the dark, and usually made them tell her everything. Lykon had managed to keep secrets from her several times, and Quynh more, but Nicky and Joe had never managed. 

Booker had. He’d kept the worst secret imaginable. 

Quynh pushed the thought from her head. Now was not the time to be thinking over Booker or of Lykon. “Thank you Nile,” she said instead. The younger woman flashed them another grin, before ducking back onto the sunny Toronto streets, fiddling with her headphones as she went. 

Joe pulled her through to what looked like a sitting room the moment the door shut, dragging her onto a sofa and into his arms. Nicky rolled his eyes, before heading into the kitchen to likely make sure nothing was burning, before joining them. They had much to talk about, she knew that, but that was for another time. For now she just wanted to be in the company of two of her favourite people in the universe.

The next time they came her Nile was going to make sure Copley made her a student ID. $23,00 for an entry fee seemed insane to her. And while yes, she had money, she still didn’t want to waste it. She’d grown pretty poor, and while she’d never wanted for food or love, she had a keen awareness of money, and how important it could be. She’d been to the museum once already with Joe, Nicky, and Andy, and while it had been an enjoyable day, it certainly wasn't the best museum they’d taken her to. Even if she loved the building. Andy had scoffed at it, saying the ‘new’ renovation ruined the architecture, but Nile had just ignored her and let Joe argue with the ancient woman about modern design. 

She was pretty sure Andy would be here. She just had a gut feeling, and she knew to test her gut. 

She weaved through throngs of university students, couples, field trips, and more, before entering the bright white dinosaur exhibit, barely pausing to take the impressive space in. She was on a mission, and that wasn’t to look at skeletons. 

She found Andy off in a corner, looking at a weird looking animal. She didn’t bother reading the description. “You,” she declared. “Are a hard woman to find.” 

Andy didn’t look surprised to see her. She’d probably been noticed the second she entered the exhibit. Nothing got past Andy. “I try,” she said offhandedly. “What’s wrong?” 

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Nile said quickly, wincing internally. She was a terrible liar normally, and somehow got worse around Andy, Joe, and Nicky. Joe made her laugh far too easily, Nicky’s eyes were impossible to say no to, and Andy just _knew_ , somehow, when someone wasn’t being truthful with her. Like a human lie detector. 

Andy raised an eyebrow. “You’re a shit liar kid,” she declared, but there was fondness in her voice. Nile wasn’t offended. Much. 

She sighed. “We’ve got a surprise for you at home,” she admitted, knowing better than to try and keep _that_ a secret. 

Andy’s other eyebrow went up. “Oh? And here I was thinking Joe and Nicky were going at it in the kitchen again.” 

Nile mimed gagging. She didn’t care that Nicky and Joe had a healthy and loving relationship, she really didn’t, but she had not wanted to see Joe eating Nicky out in the kitchen when she’d gone searching for a late night snack. The image was still burned into her retinas. At this point it was like seeing her father’s have sex, and she really never needed to see that again. 

Andy smirked. “Does this surprise have a time limit?” she asked. “Cause I want to get a beer after this.” 

Nile glanced back at the skeleton. The last time they’d been here Andy had been drawn to this exhibit as well. Nicky and Joe had delighted in pointing out inaccuracies of other exhibits to her - of errors in the Medieval section in particular, but Andy had slipped away. They’d found her admiring a T-Rex skeleton. The men hadn't said anything, but Nicky had slipped his hand into hers, giving her one of his barely there smiles, while Joe had led Nile away. Nile suspected that it was because it was something so much older than her, a part of history that had had no effect on her, or her on it. It was a novelty for someone as old as Andy. 

“It technically doesn’t have a time limit,” she replied finally. Quynh, she suspected, would be perfectly happy in Nicky and Joe’s company for quite some time, and they in hers. But Andy would want to know, want to be reunited with the lost member of their family as soon as possible. “But you’ll want it now. We have beer at home, and Nicky said he’d make penne alla vodka.” 

Andy perked up at that, much to Nile’s amusement. She couldn’t cook worth a damn, but she had an intense appreciate for food, especially food that they made for her. She had eaten anything Nile made with relish, even when it wasn’t perfect (Nile was still annoyed with how her perogies had turned out), and gave compliments freely. But she was particularly fond of Nicky’s cooking. It was delicious, so she couldn’t blame her, but Nile suspected that there was more to it. Joe’s cooking never got as loud of a response from Andy and Nicky’s did, and it was equally as good in Nile’s humble opinion. 

“Lead the way then,” Andy teased, giving the skeleton one last glance. 

They left the museum quickly, ignoring the lure of the gift shop with ease, and walking the city streets easily. It was a warm day, and Nile shed her jacket in moments, loving the feel of the sun on her skin. They’d spent most of the winter in Denmark when their mission had gone long, then come here immediately after. This city reminded her of Chicago in many ways, what with the lake effect snow and frigid wind, and she was ecstatic it was spring. It felt like a new beginning. 

“Any clues?” 

Nile shook her head. “Not for this. I’m not saying anything!” 

And elbowed her, but apparently decided not to push. They walked down what Nile had learned was called Philosopher’s Walk in comfortable silence, before walking through the campus. Nile couldn’t help but think of Joe and Nicky going here, walking these streets and going to their classes, pretending to be just another student. Nicky had studied physics, the nerd, and had pointed out one building in which he’d spend most of his time on one of their daily walks. Joe had chosen to study German. He had explained why, but had also been making eyes at Nicky, so Nile had quickly vacated the premises. She half wanted to stay here longer and study something herself. 

They crossed from College St. onto Beverly St, dodging a father wrangling his children after school. Andy gave them a wide berth. She was alright with kids, but had admitted to Nile that she never wanted them. Joe and Nicky were basically her children after so many years, and that was more than enough for her. 

Nile grinned at the man, crossing her eyes at the little girl. 

“Nicky and Joe are good with kids, right?” she asked. 

Andy laughed slightly. “They’re amazing with kids,” she said. “They’ve fostered a few over the years, and still carry those losses with them. Joe’s just so fun that kids can't help but love him, and, well, you know Nicky. It’s hard not to feel comfortable around him. I swear, his congregation in Genoa must’ve been the most devoted Christians on the planet, just because they wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” 

Nile laughed, knowing that was true, and filed the information about Joe and Nicky having been foster parents away to bring up at a later date. She wasn’t surprised, not really, but it did make her wonder about Booker, and how he’d reacted to that. The death of his children, of his wife, had clearly weighed heavily on his soul. 

“I think I’d be more scared of disappointing Nicky then dying,” Nile joked seriously. “I can’t imagine those eyes looking at you sadly. It would be like getting stabbed.” 

Andy nodded seriously. “You’ll disappoint him eventually,” she said. “And it will hurt. If you can somehow get Joe on your side you’ll survive, if only just.” 

Nile grinned. “How many times have you disappointed him?” she joked. 

Andy just eyed her, opening the gate to Joe and Nicky’s home. “Not many,” she said. “But a couple times.” 

Nile filed that information away (she had a lot of that now) and entered the home. “Found her!” she called. Beside her Andy kicked off her boots, leaving them in a heap in front of the door. Nile pushed them to the side, knowing that someone, likely her, would just end up tripping over them otherwise. 

“In here Andy,” Joe said back, voice joyful, and no longer thick with tears. 

Andy stalked through to the sitting room, looking confident and happy, nothing like the woman who’d looked at Booker with such broken confusion after escaping Merrick. 

“ _Quynh_ !?” 

Nile jogged the last few steps to the sitting room, ignoring the urge to give them privacy. She was a part of this family now, and didn’t need to excuse herself when emotions ran high. She was used to naked displays of emotion. Her mother had never hidden her grief after her father had died, nor had anyone else in her family. Her aunts and uncles had mourned together. This new strange family of hers could be as different as light and day to her old life and family, but there were similarities, and she would learn how to be with them soon enough. She’d figured out Joe and Nikcy quickly enough, and had an idea about how to deal with Booker when they next saw him. Andy was more difficult, but Nile was starting to learn how to read her minute expressions, her body language, and the small but genuine smiles she would give them when she was happy. 

Quynh stood from the sofa, running one hand through Nicky’s long hair (bleached surprisingly pale by the sun - much to her amusement. Not quite blond, but not the dark brown it had been) and ruffling Joe’s curls. The men let her go without fuss, eyes on Andy. They stood as one, Joe automatically reaching for Nicky’s hand. They walked towards her, pausing only for Joe to whisper something in Andy’s ear and for Nicky to kiss her cheek, before leaving the room, pulling Nile with them. 

“Thank you _sorellina_ ,” Joe said. “Come help with dinner?” 

She nodded, watching as Quynh pulled a shell shocked Andy into a rough embrace. She smiled slightly, and allowed Joe to put a warm arm over her shoulders. 

Nicky stirred the sauce he’d made, making Nile’s mouth water. It smelled outstanding, and Nile was suddenly aware of just how hungry she was. Her coffee and sandwich from lunch had been delicious, but not nearly filling enough. She wanted more carbs dammit! 

“Are we waiting for Andy and Quynh?” she asked, recognising the whine in her voice but not really caring. She’d seen how the two women had embraced one another - she didn’t think they’d let each other go for hours. She understood, but still. Food. 

Joe snorted, that joyful look still on his face. “I doubt it,” he replied. “We’ll eat when it’s ready and see if they want to join us, but I doubt they will.” 

Nicky nodded from where he was adding pasta to boiled water. “They both adore food, and will appreciate us offering. But they’ll wait.  
  


Nile sat down at the old kitchen table, tracing over an old ring on the wood. “Good,” she declared. “Cause I’m starving. 

Joe pulled on a braid. She’d had them put in the day before, and loved how they looked. They had taken forever to have done, but it was worth it. Joe had come with her, and managed to put in a few himself, much to the stylists amusement. He’d taught Nicky when they’d got back, excitement in every line of his body, and Nile knew if she needed to redo her hair for whatever reason, they had her covered. She would just have to rely on Nicky to rein Joe in. She’d already caught him looking up different styles on pinterest, and while she liked them all aesthetically, they weren’t exactly practical for their lifestyle. “You’re always starving,” he teased. 

“Sette minuti,” Nicky said offhandedly. She nodded, pleased when she understood him immediately. She helped Joe set the table, laughing when he turned on the radio to an oldies station and started to sing. For all that he was an artist, he didn’t have a particularly good singing voice, and was rubbish at playing instruments. That was Nicky’s forte. He didn’t sing very often, but some of her favourite memories of her new life were when he sang while cooking. It just made the place feel like home. 

“Can you ask Andy and Quynh if they would like to eat?” Nicky asked, switching to English. 

She nodded, walking from the kitchen slowly. “Andy? Quynh?” She hesitated a moment before entering the room, before rolling her eyes at herself. If they really wanted privacy they would go to Andy’s bedroom. 

“Yes Nile?” It was Quynh, smiling at her. She and Andy were sitting on the sofa together, knees touching and hands clasped, but that was it. They looked remarkably calm, giving how long they had been apart. 

“Dinner’s ready, do you want to eat now or…?” 

“We’ll eat later,” Andy said firmly. Quynh nodded, glancing back to Andy. 

Nile nodded as well, sending them both a smile. They looked so comfortable together, it warmed Nile to see. She wondered how Booker would react if he ever saw them together, if it would make him miss his wife more, or if he would find it comforting like she did. 

She left the room, intent on enjoying her dinner with Joe and Nicky. She’d watch them make eyes at each other from across the table, and joke that they should just give in and sit beside each other, before convincing them to go to the dessert place she’d walked by. Nicky didn’t have a particularly big sweet tooth, but he was always willing to indulge others, and there was some gelato she was sure he would enjoy. She and Joe could eat their weight in desserts while he laughed at them. It would also give Andy and Quynh some time to themselves, which she suspected would be appreciated. 

“It’s ready Nile!” Joe called. “Get in here before I eat yours.” 

She quickened her steps, knowing he was likely joking, but that would definitely start eating her food if she took too long. “Don’t you dare,” she said darkly, coming into the kitchen with a glare fixed on her face. Joe just grinned innocently at her. 

Nicky, impossibly kind Nicky, smacked his husband with a wooden spoon. “I won’t let him Nile,” he promised, looking at her with incredibly sincere eyes. “Your food is safe.” 

She kissed him on the cheek, grinning when he hugged her gently. Joe made a wounded noise, but they just ignored him. “Thanks for cooking,” she said, sitting down with glee. It looked _incredible_. 

He flushed, making her laugh. Joe never blushed, nor did Andy. Nicky on the other hand… Compliments killed him. It was great. 

“Wanna watch some more Schitts Creek with us after dinner?” Joe asked, already stuffing pasta into his mouth. Nicky rolled his eyes, and ate his own food much more neatly. Nile knew he didn’t mind though. His food was so good they couldn’t help but eat like animals. 

“You don’t want some time alone?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively to let them know she wouldn’t mind. She loved watching movies and shows with them, but also respected that they needed time on their own. 

Nicky shook his head and answered. “We want to spend time with you as well,” he told her, voice so honest it made Nile want to curl up in his arms and hold on for dear life. 

Joe finally stopped eating to have a sip of water. “Andy and Quynh won’t be moving from the living room though,” he said. “So you’re stuck in our room with a laptop.” 

She regarded him for a moment, before opening her mouth with a question on her lips. 

“Yes, the sheets are clean,” Joe chuckled. 

She closed her mouth with a click. “Well then. That’s fine then.” 

Nicky poured her some more wine, winking at her. 

“It’ll be like a sleepover,” she joked. She’d fallen asleep with them several times now, usually in small safehouses with one bedroom, and couldn't help but feel incredibly safe and comfortable, even if she hated cuddling in her sleep. She’d watch TV curled against one or both of them, but needed her own space to sleep well. She also loved waking up and seeing them curled up together, still so in love after so long. It made her believe that she would be okay. That she would be able to handle immortality. 

Joe laughed loudly, before giving her a wide smile. “We’ll even have popcorn.” 

Nicky paused, a mouthful halfway to his lips, and a frown on his handsome face. “If you get popcorn in my bed, you’re both on the couch.” 

She caught Joe’s eye, before they both burst out laughing. 

Joe dropped one kernel on the bed later that night. Nicky threw a pillow at him. 

They were in Paris this time, in an upscale AirBnB with enough space for him and Joe to have their own room, and for Nile to have her own as well. Andy and Quynh had disappeared after spending a month with them in their Toronto safehouse, to the surprise of no one, flying to Vietnam to spend much needed time with one another. Nicky didn’t blame though, though he certainly missed them both. Having Quynh back still seemed like something out of a dream, and having her leave again filled him with dread. And being apart from Andy now that she was mortal… well. He likely wasn’t dealing with it as well as he should be. Joe, he knew, was likewise worried, but he was better at living in the moment then Nicky was. He had taken to bringing Nile to museums and some of their favourite sites. Nicky usually accompanied them, but also gave them time on their own. He enjoyed art, and spending time with his husband and the woman he was coming to love desperately, but needed a break. Especially once they started talking about different painting techniques. He also wanted time on his own, just to be. He’d made bread, prepared a dessert, and taken advantage of the small balcony to read outside, watching people go by about their daily lives between chapters. 

They’d almost declined the mission, knowing Booker was likely to be in the city. But there were over 2 million people here. They would not see him unless they sought him out. And though Joe’s anger had mostly burnt out, Nicky knew he did not want to see the younger man. Nile might - she didn’t have the same sense of betrayal that they did - and they would encourage her to do so if she wanted to. She hadn’t brought it up yet however, seemingly content with spending her time with them. They’d finished the mission quickly, and decided to spend some more time in the city. They both wanted to show Nile the bright side of immortality, not the darkness. They knew they could not protect her forever (not that she needed it, but the urge to do so was there), but wanted to give her as much joy as they could. 

Before they’d left Toronto she’d gleefully presented them with a mug each; Joe’s with an outline of a beard and sunglasses saying “Badass Bearded Dad” while the one she’d given to him declared “My Favourite Daughter Gave Me This Mug”. They’d used them daily until they’d left for Paris, and had ensured to put them away somewhere safe. Neither of them had wanted to risk travelling with something so precious. They both understood that they could never replace Nile’s father, or her mother for that matter, but they could be there for her and try to be what she needed now. They fostered before, multiple times, and had befriended various young adults, but there was something special about Nile. Neither he or Joe was particularly religious anymore, but they both thanked God for bringing her to them. 

He left the balcony, feeling shaky and tense for no particular reason. He got like that sometimes, and while he didn’t like the feeling, he had learned how to cope with it over the years. It was part of the reason he’d decided to stay in for the day. The idea of having to deal with crowds of tourists made him feel sick. He poured himself a glass of fruit juice, frowning out the window. He’d been doing so well too - even after Quynh had returned, he hadn’t felt particularly anxious or off kilter. They’d all talked, at length, about what had happened, about their guilt, and while the conversations had not been easy, he had not felt panicked. He almost never did with Quynh. She’d been his protector, in a way, for years. She’d once thought that Joe was teasing him too roughly and had stabbed him. Joe, after he’d recovered from being so insulted (not from being stabbed - from the thought of causing Nicky harm), had been pleased at her protective behaviour, while Andy had nearly broken a rib with laughter. At the time he had not known what to think, but now her overt protection and love was nothing but comforting. 

He put the juice down, rubbing his arm subconsciously, before realising what he was doing and fiddling with his bracelet instead, moving the small beads to and fro. He would have to thank Nile again when she returned. 

He finally growled to himself, realising what was making him feel so off. He picked up his phone, dialing Copley after a moment's hesitation. 

“Is everything alright?” came the other man’s voice immediately. Nicky still wasn’t sure what to think of the man, in all honesty, but he did trust him not to double cross them again. 

“Everything is fine,” he said honestly. “I need you to get me Booker’s address.” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone, before the much younger man released a breath. “Yes, sure. I can do that. Just give me a second…” he trailed off, and Nicky could hear him rummaging around. He put the phone on speaker, purposefully regulating his breathing. Now that he’d pinpointed the source of his anxiety he somehow felt worse. That often happened though, at least at first, so he wasn’t particularly worried. Copley rattled off an address, and Nicky committed it to heart, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. 

“Grazie,” he said, moving to hang up the phone. 

“Is there anything else?” Copley asked, sounding worried. 

Nicky breathed out sharply. “No, nothing else. Thank you James.” He hung up, not waiting for the other man to respond, before gathering his wallet and anything else he may need. 

He locked the door to the flat behind him, only feeling the slightest bit of guilt for leaving. He knew he should tell Nile and Joe where he was going, but also knew that Joe would try to stop him. Not out of anger, but to protect him. They both still woke shaking in the night, dreaming of that lab, of what Booker had been willing to do to them. But Nicky knew he had to do this. He would regret coming to Paris just to ignore Booker entirely. 

He walked quickly to the George V Metro stop, jogging down the steps with his heart in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to go through with seeing Booker, or what he would do if they spoke, but he wanted to try. He fiddled some more with his bracelet as he sat on the metro, uncomfortable with how busy it was. He switched platforms at Châtelet, changing to line 14 and standing instead, closing his eyes against the bright lights and trying to meditate for the annoyingly long journey. He almost wished he had walked, but knew if he had he would have talked himself out of seeing Booker. He got off at Olympiades, walking the rest of the way to Booker’s flat after briefly checking the map app on his phone. The last time he had been in Paris for this long was after WWII, and he hadn’t been in the best state. The city had changed since then as well, so he really wasn’t sure of where he was going. 

He stopped outside Booker’s building, closing his eyes briefly. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to see him - he really did, but the idea of seeing him again was also making him feel sick with dread. He shook himself entering the building (thank you, James, for the building code) and finding the door to Booker’s flat. 

Booker put down his book in annoyance at the knock on the door. His neighbour, while nice enough, kept putting the wrong delivery address in for her parcels, and he was getting sick of taking them for her. 

He opened the door with a scowl on his face, fully expecting to see the same delivery boy as the day before. They’d talked about how, no, Madam Caron did not actually live here, but Booker didn’t think it had really sunk in. The boy had just seemed bored out of his mind. 

“I told you yesterday,” he started, “Madam…” he stopped, eyes widening and hand going slack on the doorknob. Nicky, literally the last person (besides Quynh) he’d expected to see, was standing in his doorway. He was suddenly extremely thankful he’d moved after Quynh had found him. His new place wasn’t any larger, but it was at least cleaner, and much nicer looking. He’d even kept it relatively clean. “Nicky?” 

Nicky visibly swallowed. “Hello Sébastien,” he greeted in Italian, as though his knowledge of other languages had left him. 

Booker stared for a long moment, half expecting Nicky to disappear. “Come… come in,” he finally rasped, moving out of the way to let Nicky into the apartment. The older man stepped in, looking visibly shaken. He scratched his arm, before breathing out, moving his hand to his wrist instead in a conscious movement. Booker wanted to take his hand, wanted to help him, but thought better of it. He doubted his touch would be wanted after what he had done. If it would ever be wanted again. 

“We’re in Paris for a mission,” NIkcy said faintly. “It would feel wrong to not see you. Joe took Nile to a museum, and likely will take her shopping after.” 

“Andy?” 

Nicky gave him a strange look. “With Quynh in Vietnam,” he responded. 

Booker nodded, swallowing hard. Quynh had been terrifying, like an avenging angel, who had taken a great deal of offence at his betrayal. It was no more than he deserved, and he was still shocked she hadn’t killed him. Apparently she thought him unworthy of the effort. He didn’t blame her. She’d left quickie after meeting him, and Booker hadn’t seen her since. He wasn’t surprised she’d found the others though. He knew how much she loved them, and vice versa. 

“Why Sébastien?” Nicky finally asked, spinning to look at him. He wore a look of desperate confusion on his face, hair falling into his eyes. “No matter how often I think of it, I cannot understand. Why?”

Booker ran a hand through his hair. “I told you all,” he said miserably. “I wanted things to end.” 

Nicky shook his head, brow furrowed. “No,” he protested. “Why didn’t you come to us? We’re your family, but you went to Copley instead of us.” 

Booker swallowed, sitting heavily onto a chair at his small kitchen table. Nicky remained standing, looking as though he was near tears. “I didn’t think it would go so far,” he said. “Or that you and Joe would be caught in the crossfire.” 

“In the crossfire?” Nicky repeated, moving from fiddling with the new bracelet on his wrist to pressing his fingers into his arms hard enough that the skin would likely bruise, albeit briefly. “Is that what you call it?”

“No…” Booker said, shaking his head. “No.” He realised they should have talked more before he’d… left. Should have discussed everything. But they hadn’t. They had all been too hurt, too traumatised. They’d made it to the safehouse, and two days later they’d decided on his fate. “Nicky.” He swallowed down his guilt and his shame. “I’m sorry.” 

Nicky looked as though he hadn’t heard him. He was looking at him with those goddamn eyes, hurt and fear and love in them all at once. Booker didn’t know which one was worse to see. He couldn’t believe that Nicky could still care for him considering what he’d done. 

“Why didn’t you come to us Sébastien?” Nicky demanded once more, tears now in his eyes. Booker felt like his heart was being cleaved in two. He loved Nicky, Joe, and Andy with a desperation that surprised him at times. They had never judged him for his sorrows, or his rages. They had just helped him. Andy would drink with him, and joke, offering him company no matter how much he said he did not want it. Joe and Nicky were harder. Sometimes seeing them so in love made his own heart feel lighter, as though there was still good in this godforsaken world. But sometimes even seeing them hurt. They had one another, while he had no one. 

He shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he responded honestly. Everything had spiraled out of his control so quickly, that once it had started he had seen no way to prevent it. 

Nicky finally sat at the table across from him, pushing his long hair behind his ears. “We would have tried to help you,” he insisted, laying his shaking hands on the table. “You know that, don’t you? We wouldn’t have turned you away.” 

Booked dared to reach a hand out and grasp Nicky’s, holding it tightly. “I do,” he admitted. And he did. Joe and Nicky would have dropped everything to help him. That was just who they were. He hated them for it sometimes. He closed his eyes. “I promise you Nicolò, I know you would have. I fucked up. And I’ll be begging for your forgiveness for the rest of my life.” 

Nicky let out a small sob, covering his mouth with his free hand. Booker felt like throwing up. He hadn’t seen this Nicky bad in years, and it killed him to know that he was responsible. 

“We somehow did you a disservice,” Nicky said, a single tear falling from his eye. He’d slipped back into Italian in his distress, but luckily was speaking a more modern iteration. Booker couldn’t keep up when he and Joe slipped into Ligurian. “I don’t know how, but we need to fix it.” 

Booker leaned forwards, meeting the other immortal’s eye. He desperately wanted a drink, but he’d told himself he would stop. He had known for years that what he was doing was unhealthy, but had not cared to make the effort to stop himself before. “None of this is your fault Nicky,” he insisted. “Or Joe’s, or Andy’s.” And it wasn’t. It wasn’t their fault he’d adjusted so poorly to immortality. “I was the one who couldn't forget about my old life.”

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s lost people?” Nicky suddenly demanded, looking angry now. Booker leaned back again. “Joe left his family behind - parents who loved him dearly, siblings and nieces and nephews who he mourned for. Andy and Quynh lost Lykon - someone they loved for thousands of years. Joe and I have fostered and lost nine children. You know this. We’ve told you this! We lost _Quynh_ ,” he continued, looking angrier now. It wasn’t obvious, but Booker knew when Nicky was angry, the narrowing of his eyes and the small twitch in his jaw. “We lost our sister, someone we had known and loved for centuries. We all know pain Sébastien.” 

He leaned forwards again, grabbing both of Nicky’s hands this time in an effort to stop him from hurting himself. “I know you do,” he said roughly. “But you are all stronger than I am,” he added, knowing it was true. He had fought them tooth and nail when they’d come for him, even after Nicky had saved him in Russia. “You were at Jean-Pierre’s side when he died,” he said. “You offered him comfort when I could not, and then came back and offered me comfort in turn. I will never be able to thank you enough for that.” 

Nicky tore his hands away, shoving away from the table to pace. Booker stared at him, unused to such emotional displays from Nicky. It was usually Joe who was like this. “You don’t need to thank me for that!” Nicky finally snapped, running a hand through his hair. The length made him look younger than his apparent age, and made Booker feel ancient. He’d been 42 when he’d died, but had felt much older. 

Nicky took a deep breath, breathing slowly and fiddling once more with the silver bracelet. “You didn’t have to thank me,” he repeated. “You are family Sébastien. You are our brother, and we loved you even then. I would not ask a stranger to thank me for that, why would I ask you to?” 

It was Booker’s turn to fight back tears. “I’d spent years pushing you all away,” he said. “Why on earth would you have thought of me as family? I criticized you and Joe for loving each other, Andy for being like a man, _all_ of you for your optimism… you had no reason to want me.” 

Nicky rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, making them look temporarily bloodshot when he lowered his hands. “How did we fail you this much?” he asked tiredly. “What did we do to make you feel like you did not belong with us? Tell me, please, so we can fix it when you return to us.” 

Booker let out a sob, leaning back on the rickety chair. He really wanted that drink now. “It was nothing you did,” he insisted, though did not attempt to deny he had felt separate. He still did. He had thought it was because Andy, Joe, and Nicky had already been an incredibly strong family unit, and he was too new, but Nile’s arrival had shown him differently. She had been cautions, for obvious reasons, but even he had been able to see that she would fit in with them. None of the others had treated her different then they’d treated Booker when they’d found him. They had made her food, just like they’d made him food. Comforted her and told her about Quynh just like they’d told him about their lost member. Looking back he could see how hard they had tried to include him. He had pushed them away, too desperate to return to his old life, and then too busy mourning for it. “I’m the one who pushed you away,” he admitted. “Then refused to let myself be comforted.” 

Nicky finally sat back down, breathing slightly unsteadily. Booker longed to help him, seeing how on edge he was. But he had given up that right with his betrayal. After realising Nicky suffered like Henri had he’d thrown himself into research, wanting to understand why they hurt. That he was responsible for this spiral… he felt sick. 

“Nile’s convinced me to try therapy,” Nicky offered, changing the subject abruptly. “She’s talking to someone remotely. She told the therapist her mother and brother recently died, and he’s helping her cope with that.” He shrugged elegantly. “It’s not quite the truth, but close enough. She told him about me, and he seemed to think he could help.” 

Booker laughed slightly. Already Nile was so much better than him. “And is it?” 

Nicky laughed as well, still looking angry, but also exhausted. His breathing was back to normal though, so Booker knew to take that as a win. With how Nicky had been going he’d expected a panic attack. 

“Not yet, but I’ve only spoken to him once. He said he thought I would benefit by trying something called CBT. I think Joe will talk to him as well.” 

Booker raised an eyebrow. Joe was the most well adjusted person he’d ever met, and always seemed comfortable in expressing himself. “Joe?” 

Nicky nodded. “He thinks it’s for the best to try. And wants to be able to help me and Nile, and even Andy and Quynh.” 

“Did Nile convince them to talk to this miracle therapist?”

Nicky rolled his eyes, not deigning to answer. Booker didn’t blame him. Andy was a force of nature, as was Quynh from what he knew of her. No one could convince them to do anything. 

“I’ve stopped drinking,” he offered, feeling like it was right to do so. 

A brief look of surprise crossed Nicky’s face, before his lips twitched in his characteristic small smile. “I am proud of you,” he said, sounding like the Priest he once was. Booker fought not to blush. “I am still angry at you,” Nicky admitted, swinging the subject back to the original issue. “But…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. He released a slow breath, eyes filling with tears once more and face twisting in grief. “You are my brother. Even if you do not want us. And we love you.” 

Booker felt tears finally fall down his cheeks. He didn’t deserve their love after what he had done. He deserved a far longer sentence than 100 years as well. Seeing Nicky here, less than a year after he’d been left on the Thames, was an unexpected if emotional boon. 

Nicky’s breathing picked up again, and Booker finally gave in to the urge to touch him, gathering the shorter man in his arms. Nicky tensed for a moment, before relaxing, breaths slowly becoming more and more steady. Booker leaned his cheek down to rest on his hair, relishing in the feel of having another person in his arms. He had missed them more than he thought possible. He’d missed watching football with Joe, staying up late with Andy, discussing books with Nicky. He’d missed the dinners they’d have as a family, trying to convince Nicky to let them clean because he cooked. He even missed watching Nicky and Joe be their disgustingly in love selves. 

“I do not know when the others will allow you to come back,” Nicky finally said, not moving from his arms, “but I want to keep in touch, if that’s alright with you.”

Booker let out a slow breath. “I would love to,” he said honestly, fighting the urge to break down in sobs. 

Nicky drew in a slow breath. “I could give you the therapist’s email, if you like.” 

Booker remained silent for a long moment. His sadness was a part of him, an integral part of his being. He had carried it with him for years at this point. But he also knew he could not go on like this indefinitely. His immortality showed no sign of leaving him, and at this point he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. He wanted to see Andy again before she aged and died, to get to know Quynh and watch Nile come into her own. And he wanted to spend more time with his brothers. “The therapist may need a raise if he has to deal with three of us,” he said honestly. Nile was one thing, but he had mental health and trauma to keep a therapist busy for decades. And that wasn’t even touching on Nicky. The father in Booker still couldn't grasp how Nicky’s father had hurt him, or how any grown man like Father Cosimo could even think of touching a child, especially the child he couldn’t help but imagine Nicky having been. He sighed, feeling Nicky tense again. “But I’ll see someone. I’ll find someone in person here, do the whole in person thing.” 

Nicky stepped back, leaving Booker feeling bereft. They weren’t okay, not by any stretch of the imagination, but they would be, one day. 

“Want to stay for dinner? We can get take out.” 

Nicky laughed wetly, before nodding. “Only if you’re paying.” 

Booker finally grinned fully, moving to the stack of menus by the fridge. “I can do that, mon frère. But I’m choosing what we get!” 

Joe let out a breath of relief when he heard the door to their AirBnB open, knowing Nicky was home. He’d noticed (as had Nile) that Nicky had seemed somewhat anxious when they’d left, and he wanted him near to know he was okay. He wasn’t surprised he’d left for a walk, but he had expected him back already. Nile had offered to stay up and wait with him, but the poor girl was exhausted. She’d come alive at the museum, searching the paintings for glimpses of Nicky or him. He would have to take her to Florence. Nicky had been the darling of the Renaissance, and several of the artists had been half in love with him. Joe had not minded, not really, unless they tried to get handsy. Andy had been offended enough for all of them. 

He heard Nicky putter around the apartment for several minutes, before he slipped into their bedroom, coming over to the bed. 

“I did not expect you to still be awake,” he said softly. 

Joe reached for his hand, not willing to get out of the warm and obscenely comfortable bed. “Without you in my arms? Never.” 

Nicky smiled slightly, before slipping into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face. He slid out of his clothing, before joining Joe in the bed, turning to look at him. Joe studied his face intently, before drawing him close. It was going to be one of those nights then. That was alright. He’d half expected it when he’d left with Nile in the morning, seeing the tenseness to his beloved’s shoulders, the faint unsettled look in his eyes. He pulled Nicky close, helping the other man settle against his chest, hooking an arm over his bare back and drawing the duvet over their shoulders. “I love you,” Nicky said simply. 

“I love you too,” Joe responded immediately, as he always would. “What is wrong my love?” 

Nicky sighed, somehow pushing himself closer, and kissing Joe’s chest over his heart. “I went to see Booker,” he admitted. Joe tensed, but allowed Nicky to continue. They didn’t control one another, they never had, but Joe knew he would have tried to convince Nicky not to go if he’d known what he was doing. He didn’t want to see him hurt. 

Nicky swallowed hard, breathing out slowly. “I didn’t think I was still so angry at him,” he noted. “But seeing him helped.” 

“Did you talk much?” 

Nicky shrugged. “A little,” he replied. “Though I don’t think we solved anything. That will take time.” 

Joe nodded. That would likely take years. 

“He’s stopped drinking though,” Nicky told him, sounding proud. Joe raised an eyebrow in surprise. Booker had never even considered stopping drinking. Andy would go through phases when she’d drink less, simply because she wanted to, but Booker never had seemed interested. 

“That’s… huge,” Joe said honestly. 

Nicky huffed a small laugh. “I told him Nile was talking to a therapist, that she’s convinced me to as well. I asked him if he wanted Dr. Ansari. He rejected that, which is understandable. Ansari’s doing enough for Nile and I, considering he’s based in a different time zone then us for the most part. And I’m sure I’m enough work on my own.” 

Joe pinched his side. “You’re not work,” he protested crossly. He was thrilled Nicky was willing to talk to the therapist. He’d tried before, in the 80’s, but nothing had come of it. The doctor had wanted to talk about childhood trauma even when Nicky had clearly been uncomfortable and not ready, and after the third time he’d come home only to have an anxiety attack, he and Andy had both asked him not to return. There was pushing to help, then there was just pushing. This one seemed better, though Nicky had only talked to him once. Joe had a good feeling about it though. Nicky had already asked him to be present at his next call, wanting his support. Joe would gladly give it. And be more than happy to end the session if the therapist overstepped. 

“We’re going to keep talking,” Nicky said, voice firm. “Booker and I.” He sounded as though he was daring Joe to protest. 

Joe just kissed him, slow and gentle. He was less angry at Booker now, having allowed himself to feel right after the betrayal, to let that anger run its course. It had not faded completely though, not yet, and nor had the hurt at the thought of their brother caused them. But Joe would not prevent Nicky from talking to him. Not if he thought it would help. Just as long as… “You’re not just doing this for him, right?” he asked. Nicky was the type to easily sacrifice his own happiness for others, and Joe would not have that. 

Nicky shook his head immediately. “No, I want to,” he promised, tilting his chin up to kiss Joe again. Joe smiled against his husband’s mouth, pleased he wasn’t going to have to argue with him. And he would, if Nicky was doing something to hurt himself, even if it was just by talking to Booker. 

Nicky sighed, closing his eyes as he settled back against Joe’s chest, thin and capable fingers curling slightly through Joe’s chest hair. Joe fought the urge to laugh at the light touch. Nicky wasn’t trying to tease now, or start something. He just wanted comfort, comfort that Joe would gladly give. “Did you eat?” he asked instead, knowing that his husband tended not to want food when he was feeling like this. He’d managed half an apple for breakfast, but Joe knew that was only because he’d forced himself to eat. Nile was a blessing in that respect. She wouldn’t force him, but she’d look at him with her best puppy dog eyes until he at least tried to eat. 

Nicky nodded. “Booker ordered take out for us,” he mumbled, already half asleep. “I tried.” 

Joe felt his eyes fill with tears, overwhelmed for love for the man in his arms. Nicky, for all his capacity for violence, was so full of love and kindness. He had eaten to make Booker worry less, so that he could assure Joe that he’d tried, that he wasn’t starving himself again. “Thank you,” Joe whispered, kissing the top of his husband’s head. 

Nicky just grunted, already nearly asleep. 

Joe tightened his grip, feeling sleepier himself now that Nicky was back in his arms. They never slept well when they were apart, regardless of the reason. He let himself fall asleep as well, relishing in the feel of having Nicky in his arms where he belonged. 

In the morning Nicky seemed more settled, though not quite back to normal. They woke long before Nile, who relished in sleeping in late when she got the chance, and settled on the sofa, turning on some show about home renovations. They wanted to make some changes to their Toronto safehouse, and could always do with some ideas. Nile had mentioned a passing interest in attending the university, and they wanted her to be comfortable. 

Joe made a face at the television, miming gagging. “That’s hideous,” he said bluntly. Nicky laughed happily, running a hand through Joe’s curls. Joe leaned into his touch, kissing the side of his plush mouth. “Can I get you anything?” Joe asked, standing and stretching. 

Nicky shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I’ll eat lunch,” he compromised. “I promise. We can take Nile to Zia.” 

Joe grinned. “Sounds like a plan.” He leaned back down, kissing Nicky again, wanting to be as close to him as possible, but also desperately wanting more coffee. “You sure I can’t convince you to have a coffee? Or I can make you some tea.” 

Nicky shook his head, bringing up a hand to cup Joe’s cheek. The tenseness set to his shoulders was gone, as was the faint line of stress between his eyes. He wasn’t okay, not now, but he was getting there. “I just need you,” he said sweetly. Joe kissed him again, just because he could. 

“I love you so much,” Joe said, pressing his lips to Nicky’s forehead next. Nicky laughed lightly. 

“Go get your coffee you sap,” he teased. “Then we can keep making fun of the show.” 

Joe turned back to the television, making a face at the room being shown. He knew his taste could be a little eclectic, but this… this was just too much. “I’m going,” he finally said, walking over to the little kitchenette to make himself an espresso. He poured some juice for Nicky as well, just in case, before making his way back to his husband. He curled up against him on the sofa, shoulders and thighs touching, and hands linked together. They’d watch some more television before showering together and dressing, waking Nile shortly before they needed to leave. She would complain half heartedly, but allow them to prod her into full wakefulness with teasing and a strong shot of espresso, following them eagerly onto the Parisian streets to their chosen lunch spot. After they’d go shopping if Nicky was up for it. Joe adored dressing his husband in clothing that fit and suited him, and Nile deserved to be spoiled. 

If Nicky wanted to, they'd talk about Booker some more, make sure that Nile knew she was welcome to see him if she wanted. She’d been texting him since the start, but they didn’t want her to hold back or hesitate for their sake. 

They’d get back to the AirBnB for supper so that they could cook as a family before calling Andy and Quynh. Joe worried for them both, and missed them dearly, but would not begrudge them their space, not after everything. They were planning to meet in Thailand at the end of the month anyway, so it wasn’t like they were going to be apart for long. 

“I like that,” Nicky said suddenly, gesturing towards the TV. Joe followed his gaze. 

“We could do something like it in the upstairs bathroom,” he offered. 

Nicky gave him a small smile in agreement, before turning his attention back to the show. Joe pushed closer against him, needing the physical touch to ground him, to help him know that Nicky was safe. He didn’t tend towards anxiety, but he did feel deeply. He loved with his entire being, and wanted nothing more than for those he cared about to be safe. He pulled Nicky closer. 

Nicky turned off the TV, giving him a look. “Back to the bedroom?” 

Joe grinned and shot to his feet, pulling an amused Nicky up with him before kissing him deeply, sliding his tongue into his mouth. “Don’t want to risk traumatising Nile again?” 

Nicky smacked him on the shoulder, before pulling him back into the bedroom, falling onto the bed. “There’s more room on the bed,” he pointed out, before releasing a shuddering sigh, looking suddenly unsteady. “I want…” he trailed off, looking suddenly near tears. 

Joe pushed him down onto the bed, kissing him gently and running his hands up his side. “I know,” he assured him. Sometimes Nicky just wanted to feel, to be grounded in his own body, held tightly in Joe’s arms as they made love. “I know my love.” 

Nicky buried his face in the crook of his neck. “I want you in me,” he whispered. “I want to feel you, always.” 

Joe pulled him somehow closer, before moving back to remove Nicky’s clothing, and then his. “Anything you desire,” he said vehemently. “For eternity my Nicolò.” 

Nicky kissed him again, arms around his shoulders. “For eternity,” he agreed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to anyone who can figure out the market they walk through haha - I had a… friend... who lived right where I have Nicky and Joe’s safehouse, so the directions are accurate. And the museum Nile finds Andy at IS gorgeous, but the exhibits (minus the dinos!) are kinda meh after the first time, especially when compared to the ones in Europe. Not really worth the entry fee. 
> 
> Did I look up different fathers day mugs for this? Yes. Yes I did. 
> 
> [JOE'S MUG](https://www.etsy.com/ca/listing/700723991/badass-bearded-dad-mug-dad-beard-gift?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=fathers+day+mug&ref=sr_gallery-1-8)
> 
> [NICKY'S MUG](https://www.etsy.com/ca/listing/707433743/my-favorite-daughter-gave-me-this-mug?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=fathers+day+mug&ref=sc_gallery-2-4&plkey=393fb1193ff35aec00be83874ac6911339aea4c9%3A707433743&pro=1)
> 
> I considered adding another chapter for Andy and Quynh, but this fic focused on Nicky mainly, so ultimately decided against it. I mean, things aren't "fixed" for any of them, but they're all on a better path now, so this felt like a good place to leave it. It also ended up being over 10 000 words and 40 pages long... so I needed to wrap things up haha. I like writing long chapters, but it was getting out of hand. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me on this journey! Please let me know what you thought, I've loved writing this, and would love to know what you guys think :)


End file.
